Dangerous Disguise
by A Soldier Of My Own
Summary: Dresses were for sissies. She much preferred the comfort of her trousers. Plus, who could run in heels anyway? (Eugene x OC)
1. Renegade Runaway

A/N: Okay, so I struggled a long time with whether or not I should post this. I admit, I started it four years ago, and then suddenly, I found it again, and…in the past month, I've been writing up a storm (I'm at 300 pages total, currently). I'm actually almost done with it, so while I'll post the chapters a few at a time, I'm definitely gonna have it finished soon. I am also working on AUs that features the same character (-cough-SoulmateModernAU-cough-) Anywho, I hope you enjoy. _Constructive_ criticism is always welcome.

This is done purely for fun, I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _Sometimes I sit alone under the stars and think of the galaxies inside my heart and truly wonder if anyone will ever want to make sense of all that I am." ―_ _Christopher Poindexter_

 **Chapter 1: Renegade Runaway**

"I'm tellin' ya, I didn't take nothin' from ya, Roe!"

"You ain't nothin' but a liar, Branigan! I know you took my fav'rite toy firetruck from me! Give it back!"

"I didn't take nothin'!"

The twin shouts of anger were followed by a chorus of cries and encouragements, as a circle of young boys closed in around the two combatants. Their chanting rose to a crescendo as the two circled each other angrily, one accusing, and one defending.

The accuser lunged, but the defendant ducked, catching the other boy off guard and barreling into him. They hit the ground as a cloud of dirt rose up around them, their already torn and tattered clothing taking as much of a beating as the two combatants.

The defendant had the other boy pinned, fists raised back and falling down hard as they struck, defending words and honor and the injustice of being called a liar and a thief. The pinned youth squawked and hollered, shouting his outrage as the ring of boys closed in, intent on some blood-letting and a good old fashioned brawl. But the defendant ignored it all and threw punch after punch, intent on pounding some sense into the accuser.

All of a sudden, the circle of boys was shoved back, and a pair of strong hands wrapped around the back of the defendant, yanking them backwards as the boy on the ground squalled like a hurt piglet. The defendant writhed in the grasp of the hand on the back of their shirt, never making more noise than a few grunts and savage snarls in the process.

"-The hell is wrong with you two?!"

Both defendant and accuser stared up into a face twisted with angry rage and annoyance at a man, no older than twenty-five, and both went still immediately. The crowd of boys, with the threat of some form of punishment looming overhead, had long since dispersed and vanished as inconspicuously as a large mob was able.

"He accused me of-" the defendant began, pointing a trembling finger at the boy in front of them.

"I don't care what he accused you of." The man turned imperious blue eyes towards the first boy, and growled. "You're that Roe kid, ain'tcha?" At the nod of assent from the accuser, the man growled again. "You better get your skinny little ass home before I whoop it for you, boy. I don't want to catch neither of you two fightin' again, ya hear? Or by God, I'll make sure you can't sit down for a week."

The accuser went rigid, eyes widening at the threat of punishment, and turned on his heel, taking off as fast as his dignity and his legs would carry him. Once he was out of sight, the man turned his gaze to the remainder of the guilty party. "Well, what do you have to say fer yourself?"

The defendant crossed arms scuffed with mud, dirt and a few fresh scrapes from the tumble. "I won."

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"Sam Branigan, you keep gettin' into fights like that, and your face is going to turn into one big lump of bruises."

Sam sat studiously on the chair, not so much twitching even as Mrs. Martha Branigan dabbed a cloth over the wounds her child had acquired in the fight. Sam had long ago become accustomed to being pampered by the matriarch of the family after every fight; and there were certainly a lot of them. Head down, eyes bulled up and defiant, Mrs. Branigan was suddenly struck with how much Sam and her husband resembled each other.

"Oh, you stop giving me that look," she chided, smoothing the cloth over Sam's face and getting a scowl in response. "I swear, you and your father is just like two peas in a pod. Both got that bulled up look on yer face when you get angry. Do you even know who it was you was fightin' with?" A morose face was all she got in response. "You never do. Always just pickin' fights. Lucky your pa shook some sense into that boy. He won't bother you no more." A chuckle from near the door startled her, and in response, she rubbed the cloth a little too roughly over Sam's face, eliciting a smothered yelp.

"Gosh darn it, Seamus Branigan, don't you sneak up on me like that when I'm concentrated on gettin' this rascal of a child of yours all cleaned up." Sam sniggered, and Martha shot a look so cross, her child instantly, and wisely, clammed up.

"Aw, don't be mad, hon. I gotta say, beyond the first few minutes of bein' so damn angry I couldn't see straight, I think Sam won that fight. Or nearly would've, if I hadn't'a come along."

"You watch your mouth, Seamus Branigan !" Martha snapped, scolding him for his use of swears in her presence. "Or you won't be gettin' dinner fer a week. I declare." She huffed, and set the cloth down in the small water basin on the table, before she shooed Sam off the chair. "You two get along and get them cows tended to. I'll get started on makin' dinner."

"And a foine dinner it will be, Mrs. Branigan !" Seamus declared dramatically in his rough, Irish brogue. Both he and Sam had to duck out at a run to avoid the water she sloshed their way.

"Yer lucky I'm even _makin'_ it for you!"

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"Dad?"

"Yeah Sam?"

"Dad…how come everyone is always pickin' fights with me, huh? I didn't do nothin' to them. I never do nothin' wrong. How come, huh?"

Sam's father looked up from the pitch fork he held tightly in hands. hard and callused from years of tough and trying labor. Sam was holding out a bag of feed as one of their older cows (Aptly named 'Bessie,' as most cows were), munched leisurely from the rare and well-loved treat. A few of their other cows, a Jersey or two, some Holsteins, and a Guernsey, had begun meandering over to get their share of the feed, which Sam had begun to scatter around on the ground.

"Well now, Sam. I can't rightly say. Could be because they sense the Irish in you." Here he grinned, clearly making a joke, before he sobered up quickly enough, scooping another fork-full of hay and tossing it over his shoulder to mingle with the feed. "I don't really know, Sam. But you gotta stop this fightin' business. You can't go 'round beating up everyone who throws a cross word yer way. Ya just gotta learn to let it go, kiddo. That's the way things work. 'Sides, once we move up north, you'll be startin' all over. Might as well make an effort to try and get along with people."

Sam pulled a face, and Seamus laughed. "Now, don't ya go givin' me that face, kiddo. Listen, if you promise me you'll try not to get into any more fights, then I'll teach ya _how_ to fight, the real Irish way."

With the way Sam's eyes lit up, Seamus could tell he'd said the right thing. "Ya can't tell your mother, though. And you gotta promise me you'll behave. No more fights, if you can help it. And you're goin' to school and church without any whinin', no questions asked. And at least try tuh look presentable when ya do. Deal?"

Sam grinned broadly, elated at the prospect of learning to fight for real. "It's a deal!"

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"All right, you. Time to wash up fer bed."

Sam whined, the type of whine a kid makes when they really don't want to do anything they're told. Martha just shook her head, pursing her lips and fixing her child with a stern glare as she cleared the table.

"All right, fine," Sam muttered, slinking away from the table to do what Martha had instructed. Martha watched with a triumphant eye, as Seamus just chuckled faintly.

"Ah, leave it to a lass to get things done, eh? Don't know how we'd survive without ya, Martha, me dear."

"Oh shove it," she said playfully, shooting him an impish smile as she cleared the table, setting the dishes in the wash basin to be cleaned later. "Come along then. We better make sure our little fighter gets into bed all right. Never can trust that one, I tell ya," she finished with a quirk of her lips, faintly amused.

They followed Sam to the other room, where a small candle flickered cheerily in the cool night air. Sam had already washed, and was currently pulling on an old, worn, but very comfortable set of sleepwear.

"Into bed, you little rascal," Seamus said fondly, lifting the thick duvet and tucking Sam in. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against Sam's temple, as Martha leaned in to do the same. "Tomorrow," Seamus said sternly. "Yer workin' on the farm with me. No more of this fightin' nonsense, ya hear?"

Sam made a small noise that could've been agreement or annoyance but snuggled down into the comforter. Seamus and Martha smiled softly, snuffing out the candle on the way out as they left their child safely tucked away in bed for a good night's sleep.

"Good night, Samantha. Sweet dreams, my little angel," her mother called from the doorway.

Wrapped up in her blankets, Sam could only smile as she drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

"…Five minutes away from throwing myself off a bridge, Lizzie, I really am."

Elizabeth, or Lizzie, as she was called, turned to see a tall, willowy soldier striding through the tent flap, a scowl on his face that could clear a room. It took her another moment to recognize said face and realize that it didn't belong to a man, but to a woman. "Geeze, Sam," she replied airily, checking something off on her clipboard. "You get any more manly, and you're going to have to start shaving."

"Ha, ha," Sam replied dryly, though couldn't deny it was probably true.

In 1941, the United States had officially gone to war. Sam had been no more than seventeen years old, just barely out of high school (if you could count fist fighting her way through the grades 'school') and had immediately jumped at the chance to volunteer and fight for her country.

Well, maybe 'fight' was a bit of an overstatement.

She'd been labeled a 'nurse,' shoved into a dress, and thrown into a haphazard battlefield nursing school. Whereupon completing, she had immediately rebelled, _literally_ burned her dress, and begged, borrowed or stole a uniform that consisted of regular army fatigues, no dress involved.

With heavy boots, shapeless clothing, and hair so short it could almost be called 'shorn,' Sam was probably the least nurse-iest nurse in the entire army.

Almost a two years later, Sam found herself in Europe, working alongside her fellow nurses and aiding the British army in the fight against the Germans. She'd been stationed in England, and in France, and along with her friend Elizabeth, was now back in England, in Aldbourne, moving supplies in and out of the makeshift base.

Sam had only one friend in the nursing corps, and that was Elizabeth Nixon, who, like herself, had volunteered to serve their country in 1941. They'd trained together, lived together, and had become the best of friends; Lizzie easily put up with Sam's 'quirks' and her apparent 'oddness.' It was the only reason Sam put up with Lizzie, despite the fact that she was an 'annoying woman.' Sam didn't like or trust most people in general unless she really got to know them, so it had taken a while for her to warm up to the Nixon girl. Once she did, though, she didn't regret it.

Mostly.

"I'm serious!" Sam continued, side-stepping Lizzie and grabbing one of the large boxes with ease. Lizzie lifted a brow.

"Serious about what? And by the way, how the hell do you lift those so easily?"

"Watch your mouth, young lady," Sam chastised, usually unwilling to curse since her mother had taught her that it was a terrible, rude habit. Sam was full of contradictions, but being around so many soldiers for so long made it difficult to stick to her guns and the occasional curse did slip out. "Years of getting the snot beat out of you as a kid and beating the snot out of everyone else really helps a gal work out the muscles, ya know?" She snorted, hefting the box higher in her arms. "Anyway, the girls here, Lizzie! I mean, you're all right Liz, but the rest? If I don't strangle, smack, or kick one of them, I'm going to just throw myself off a bridge. It's always 'Oh, they're so dreamy!' 'Oh, just look at those uniforms!' 'Oh, I can't wait to see him again!' If I have to hear one more thing from some lovesick, doe-eyed, air-headed idiot, I'm going to just…" She ended her rant in an inarticulate growl as Lizzie giggled.

"Oh come on. They aren't all that bad, right?"

"One of them asked me on a date."

"Okay, never mind."

Lizzie giggled again as Sam toted the box outside to the back of a waiting truck. "You have to admit," she began as Sam reappeared to grab another. "You do make an awfully appealing target. You're such a pretty man."

"Don't make me smack you, Liz."

Sam scowled as she grabbed the next box. "Boy, will I be glad when our boys get back over here. Give me a break for once." She grunted as she hefted the box up into the air. "They're always making calf-eyes at me, and it's disturbing. Gives me the willies."

"Well, you're in luck, Sammy-girl." Lizzie ignored the look Sam shot her as she stepped back outside. "'Cuz word around town is that the boys are headed back here."

"Really? So I take it they'll be coming in straight from Normandy, eh?"

"Yep. Soon enough."

"Thank God."

Lizzie giggled again, setting her clipboard down as Sam reappeared and swiped her hands together. "All right!" Sam crowed happily. "What say you and I go get a drink, huh? I'm parched. And if you come with me, maybe the girls will stop trying to get me to have dinner with them. I swear, one more time and…" She marched out the tent door, a laughing Lizzie in tow as the two of them strolled down the street.

Sam shoved her hands into her pockets, trying very hard to ignore the pointed looks some of the women shot her as she walked along. "Do I _really_ look that much like a man? Is it that bad, Liz?" she asked, suddenly feeling an unfamiliar surge of self-consciousness as a group of girls flounced by, tittering and flashing her coy smiles as they passed. "I mean, yeah, my hair is short and I don't wear those dam- uh, dang dresses, but I can't be _that_ manly, right?"

"Hon," Lizzie began, smiling earnestly. "You're the prettiest man I ever seen, remember?" She giggled as Sam scowled. "But in all honesty, Sam, you do look…a lot like a guy. But that's just _you_. This uniform is who you are. If you were in a dress…by God, I doubt I'd even know who you were if we hadn't already trained together back home. Those dresses never suited you. I remember that sour look on your face almost every day!" She leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially. "I can't see no curves or anything in any of the obvious places; you're just one big unshapely lump in that thing. Even out of it, Sam, you don't have the most…curvaceous body out there. You kinda look like a slightly rounded boy in PT gear too. But rest assured, you've got a lovely feminine face, and pretty eyes. I think it's the hair that does it. It's just…you ain't got nothing up top."

Lizzie reached up and battled at one of the tiny curls peeking out from beneath Sam's cap. Her hair was so short; it was almost difficult to find a piece of it to tug on playfully to make a point.

"I do so! You just can't see it 'cuz I keep it all under wraps, so to speak. Geeze," Sam huffed, batting her hand away in mock annoyance when Lizzie shot her a look. "All right. You've made your point, Miss Nixon. Now shut up and walk faster; I really need that drink."

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed! If anything is amiss, please let me know. Reviews are so very much appreciated! Let me know I wasn't wrong to post this garbage I'm writing, hahaha!


	2. Who Are You?

A/N: Look! Garbage chapter two! Haha, yeah, so I can't help myself. At least giving you a little interaction to actually make you wanna read. Maybe?

This is done purely for fun, I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _A wounded deer leaps the highest." -Emily Dickinson_ _  
_

 **Chapter 2: Who Are You?**

"Ugh, God, sunlight!"

Sam dove back under the covers as Lizzie threw the curtains in their room open, drinking in the bright sunlight and early morning air. "Stop being such a baby, Sam, and get the hel- er, heck up! Didn't you hear the trucks? They've been rumbling in all night! The boys are finally back!"

"Whoop-dee-friggin'-do," Sam grumbled. "Wake me when the war's over." She proceeded to bury herself back under the covers, when her center of gravity suddenly shifted dramatically.

"I said get up!"

"What the _fuck_?!"

Sam screamed as the mattress she was lying on was flipped all the way over, sending her sprawling beneath it on the floor. Lizzie held her hands against her stomach, having a difficult time breathing over her laughter. She leaned against the door frame as Sam wiggled her way out from beneath the comforter and blanket, coming up spluttering mad and red-faced in nothing but a white shirt and PT shorts.

"Oh my God, I got you to curse! That was the best moment of my life!"

"I hope you can run fast, Lizzie!" Sam shouted, lunging suddenly for the dark-haired brunette in the doorway. "Because when I catch you, you're dead!"

" _Who's_ dead?"

Sam froze mid-leap, and Lizzie all but fell out of the doorway as she stumbled forward, both women turning their gaze to the man standing in the doorway with wide-eyes and raised brows. "What the hell is going on in here?"

"Lewis!"

Sam was overturned and flew backwards into the pile of blankets and mattress as Lizzie rushed away from her and straight into the startled man's arms. "What the-?!" Sam spluttered, trying and failing to untangle herself from the sheets.

"Lewis, oh my God! How did you find me? What are you doing here? How have you been? I'm so glad you're okay! I've missed you so much! Oh my God!" Lizzie babbled, clinging to the man with a bear-like vice-grip.

"Little help here!?" Sam growled, but neither of the other occupants of the room noticed.

"Liz! You're pretty easy to find; I'm an intelligence officer, I asked questions, I got answers. Simple enough. I'm here with my company. I've been good. And you can call me 'Lew.' 'God' seems a little lofty, don't you think?" His smile turned affectionate as he easily answered each of her rushed questions. "…But I've missed you too, sis." He peered over Lizzie's shoulder where Sam was grumbling up a storm. "Uh, Liz…Why is there a man in your room? What the hell have you been up to here? And why is the room destroyed?"

"Oh!" Lizzie colored slightly, cheeks turning red as she quickly leapt to her friend's aid and helped Sam untangle herself from the blankets. "Uh, Lew, this is…Sam Branigan. Sam, this is my brother, Captain Lewis Nixon."

Sam stuck out her hand, regarding the man before her with cool disinterest. "Heard a lot about you. Nice to meet you, sir."

Lewis took the hand with a bit more caution, eyeing Sam up and down before his eyes narrowed slightly. "Not to sound rude, but there's something off about you, Sam Branigan."

"Not to sound rude, but you can mind your own fucking business."

"Sam!" Lizzie screeched. Sam glanced at her friend, then back at Lew as she folded her arms over her almost flat chest.

"Sorry. My mistake. I meant to say, 'you can mind your own dang business.' Better?"

Lizzie growled, shaking her head. "Hardly. Can't you be civil for two seconds?"

"He started it."

"I don't care who started it, I'm going to finish it!" Lizzie turned to her brother, who was watching the interaction with a mixture of confusion and annoyance, and huffed. "Lew, Sam _is_ 'off,' as you put it. She's a girl. But don't spread it around. I imagine she doesn't want a lot of people knowing that. If they did, they'd take away her beloved trousers and stuff her in a dress-"

"God forbid!" Sam exclaimed.

"-Anyway, she's kinda keeping it on the low down, you know? Making sure not many people know. Not everyone would approve of her wearin' that uniform, especially the locals and some of the higher ups. It's pretty friggin' hilarious watching her fend off the advances of the love-starved women around here, though, but it does have its perks…like getting into the pub unchallenged, and getting whatever rations and supplies we need without hassle from the men. Huh…" She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Come to think of it, Sam, your trousers are pretty handy."

"Yeah, thanks. Glad I could be of service," Sam replied dryly, before she turned an imperious gaze on Lewis. "So yeah, that's about it. Try not to spread it around if you can manage, Mr. Intelligence Officer. It ain't a secret, but it's just not somethin' I wanna deal with. I have enough crap going on as it is."

"You're a girl?" Lewis's mouth was hanging open incredulously, and Sam was sure that if he didn't close it soon, he'd start catching flies. "Really? I never would've guessed. You don't look like a girl, what with the…" He trailed off when he caught the look Lizzie was shooting him, making cutting motions across her neck as she stood behind Sam. "Anyways, your 'not-so-secret' secret safe with me. And might I just say, thank God."

Sam snorted. "God ain't got nothin' to do with it."

"Well, regardless…I was worried my little sister was running around with some wayward soldier. Mother and father would've had a field day with that. I'm just curious…uh, why do you really run around looking like a man? It can't be just because of the perks…right?"

"Perks," Sam snorted, and rolled her eyes as she heaved the mattress back onto the bed springs. "Yeah, perks. I just met you, Lewis Nixon. And now you're asking to explain to you why I am the way I am. Funny guy."

"Sam," Lizzie muttered warningly, folding her arms.

"Yeah, yeah, play nice. I get it," Sam chuckled, spreading the sheets back out on the mattress. "If you must know, Lewis, it was, in a way, part of my upbringing. I'm an only child, and I worked on a farm from the time I could walk. My daddy raised me like he would've raised a son, I guess. And because of that…Well, I wasn't so much a little girl as a little boy. I got into fist fights at school every other week over stupid, petty arguments until we moved to New Jersey. I refused to wear dresses, even on Sundays, and I just kind of grew up being more comfortable in trousers and a little bit of mud than skirts and a lot of make-up. And if I'm gonna do my job, then I'm going to do it to the best of my abilities, no holds bar. Women don't always get the most respect or leeway unless we have rank, power, or, in my case, trousers."

Sam scratched her head, straightening up and looking faintly confused. "Does any of this make sense to you?"

Lew nodded slowly, looking amused and impressed at the same time. "I think so. Long story short, your dad raised you like a son, you're more comfortable in trousers than dresses, and you think that if people think you're a man, you'll be able to work and perform your duties more effectively and efficiently. Did I hit the nail on the head?"

"Bingo. Guess you're an intelligence officer for a reason, eh?"

Lewis laughed, and Lizzie looked between the two. "God, you really _are_ a man, Sam. You get along so well with them. Don't miss a beat, do you?" She huffed, folding her arms. "Now get lost, Lew. Sam needs to get dressed. She's not _that_ much of a man, you know. We'll come find you later."

"Some welcome," Lewis muttered, but smiled playfully at his sister. "All right. We'll be just up the road, Liz." He leaned forward and gently placed a brotherly kiss on her cheek. "See you later, Liz. Nice to meet you Sam. I presume I'll see you later too, then."

Sam nodded curtly, and watched and Lewis made an about-face and disappeared from sight. She turned to Lizzie, raising an eyebrow and fixing her with a look. "What?" Lizzie asked innocently, folding her hands behind her back.

"Lizzie, you're an idiot."

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"Well dang. When they say 'invasion,' they certainly mean 'invasion,'" Sam commented dryly as they strolled down the street.

"And what a handsome invasion it is," Lizzie sighed dreamily from beside her. Sam gave her an odd look, and scooted a good few inches away, just to be safe.

"What the heck is wrong with you?"

"Hey, I've been American man deprived for a really long time, okay? I think I deserve a good ogle or two, don't you? I feel like I've been surrounded by British and French soldiers for waaaay too long."

"You scare me, Lizzie. You really do."

They passed by groups of men in uniforms, trucks, jeeps, and all sorts of other things that certainly hadn't been there the night before. "Where did Lew say he was, exactly?"

"Down the street."

"How oddly specific." Sam shot her a pointed look.

"….You're right. How the heck are we going to find him again in this mess?"

"Ask around," Sam shrugged, looking pretty blasé about the entire thing. She could care less about the soldiers invading their cheery little town, although inside, she was pretty giddy about not being the only one in uniform. Maybe now she'd get some peace from the local girls who made it their mission in life to hound her very shadow. If only they knew what lay beneath the over-large, floppy uniform.

"Who should I ask?" Lizzie cried, flustered. Sam rolled her eyes, and without warning, reached out to grab the arm of the nearest man passing by.

The man was jerked back with a start, only to come face-to-face with a blue-eyed, red haired soldier he'd never seen before. Confused, and a little bit miffed about behind man-handled, he shot the man a dark look. "What d'ya want fella? I'm walkin' here."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam replied dryly. "Hey, you know where…" she trailed off, looking to Lizzie for instruction.

"Oh! Right. Uh, captain Lewis Nixon, 101st Airborne, 506th PIR, Easy Company, is?"

Sam blinked; that sounded so rehearsed. "Yeah, that guy. You know where he is?" she finished for her friend, turning to stare imperiously across at the man who was as tall as her and not an inch taller.

"You lookin' for captain Nixon?" the man replied, confused. Sam nodded curtly. "He's up the road. Right over there." He jerked his thumb behind him, and then scowled down at Sam's hand still on his arm. "Hey, pal, ya think ya could let go already? I got places ta get to."

"Yeah, all right," Sam replied distractedly as she and Lizzie started up the road again. The man peered after them curiously, then shook his head. What a funny broad…And that soldier sure looked awfully strange. Shrugging to himself, the soldier kept going, deciding he'd retell this story later, and maybe add a couple of punches and uppercuts to make it more exciting.

Meanwhile, Sam and Lizzie had made their way to the temporary company CP, or what they could only assume it was. Sam had her hands stuffed resolutely in her pockets, a faintly morose look on her face as she trailed after Lizzie, who was marching determinedly through a sea of soldiers with supplies and other things.

"Lizzie? Sam?"

Both women turned on their heel to see Lewis leaning against a wall outside the home where their headquarters was being stationed. He had a stack of papers in his hand, and looked as though he'd just been looking them over before they arrived. Upon spotting them, he'd tucked the stack under his arm, and strolled over. "So you found me, huh?"

"After some asking around, yeah, we did. Be more specific next time," Lizzie scolded, looking faintly annoyed. Sam whistled obliviously, gaze roving over the supplies and other essential things the men were hauling into the building.

"Nice digs," she commented idly, and heard Lew chuckle.

"Yeah, only the best for us. Listen, Liz, I have a favor to ask."

Lizzie turned to regard her brother curiously. "You're here for no more than a few hours, and you're already asking favors?"

"Well, if it helps, it's part of your job," he supplied hopefully.

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Fine. What is it?"

"Think you can hook our medics up with some supplies?"

"Whaaaaat?" Lizzie whined, hands on her hips. "Don't you guys have your own supplies? I can't go around just giving away our stuff, ya know. This isn't a charity." She folded her arms. "And I'm not your personal nurse, Lew. Just because I'm your sister doesn't mean I can help you with things like this. Why don't you ask for them legally, you know, with one of those reports you higher ups are always so keen to type out?"

"Lizzie…"

"Ugh, fine! What do you need?"

Lewis grinned like a fool and handed her a list. "What?" she grumbled. "You already had the list typed out? Jerk." She swiped it from his hands and stormed off, leaving Sam standing awkwardly behind her.

Sam shifted from foot to foot, looking over her shoulder, and then back to Lew. "So, uh, I-" She was saved from having to fill the awkward silence by the sudden appearance of another captain. He stepped out of the makeshift offices, and made a beeline immediately for Lewis, sidestepping around Sam.

"Lew, did you get those supplies rounded up yet?"

Sam blinked, then grinned slyly over the man's shoulder. "I see. Shirking your duties, eh captain? Sneaky, sir. Real sneaky."

The second captain turned as if just noticing her for the first time, and gave a small start. "Trooper?" he asked, as if unsure as to whether or not that's what Sam was; the bright white and red arm band on his arm identified this strange new soldier as a medic, but beyond that, he couldn't gauge where he came from. Dick looked faintly perplexed.

"Uh," Lew quickly interceded on the woman-gone-soldier's behalf, and slid around to stand beside her. "Dick. This is Sam Branigan. Sam's with the medical corps and good friends with my sister Lizzie. You remember me telling you about her. She was just here, matter of fact. I think she's off to get those supplies rounded up for me. Sam was going to help. Weren't you, Sam?"

Sam chuckled faintly, and glanced at the second captain, who seemed faintly amused. "That I was, sir. It's actually sergeant, by the way." She clicked her heels together and saluted sharply, relaxing when the new captain returned the salute. "May I ask your name, sir?"

"It's Richard Winters," he supplied helpfully. "Nice to meet a friend of Elizabeth. You were…on your way to help her?" He shot a pointed look at Lew, who nodded curtly.

"Yep, on your way, Sam." He carefully steered Sam a few feet away, before whispering in her ear. "Don't let Lizzie get too close to any of those guys; they're great, but I don't want my little sister involved with a soldier."

"I'm sensing some issues here?"

"Sam, just do it. All right?"

"Aye, aye, captain. I guess that means I'm off to chase the dragons away from the damsel in distress…If Liz can be called that. See ya later, sir." She turned and saluted, before striding off in the direction Lizzie had gone.

"What was that all about, Nix?" Richard asked as his friend strolled back over, looking a little flustered.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

8888

By the time Sam caught up to Lizzie, she'd already landed herself ankle deep in curious soldiers.

"Shoot," Sam muttered, observing the situation from afar.

Lizzie had about three or so soldiers surrounding her, each offering to help and one already carrying boxes for her out of the medical tent. Only that one, Sam realized, was an actual medic, but the rest…Sam wasn't sure where they came from, except that they wore the same insignia and uniform as captain Nixon.

Sighing to herself, Sam decided it'd be best to get this over with and out of the way.

"Boys, please. I think Doc Roe and I have got this under control." Sam rolled her eyes at the sound of Lizzie's flirtatious laughter; the woman was egging it on.

"Problem here?" Sam asked as she strode up, a scowl set onto her face. The three soldiers milling about and vying for Lizzie's attention turned almost as one, and Sam silently wondered if she'd bitten off more than she could chew.

"'Ey!" one of them crowed, and Sam thought he looked vaguely familiar. "I know you. You're the fella who stopped me this mornin' ta ask for directions." He peered at her with a scrutinizing gaze, and Lizzie, sensing things were winding up to get too out of hand, immediately stepped up to Sam's side.

"Oh, so sorry about that. I asked Sam to ask for directions. I was hopelessly lost, see. I was trying to find my brother."

"Captain Nixon is your _brother_?" one of the soldiers asked incredulously.

"Uh, yes, yes he is."

The red-haired soldier whistled, looking impressed, then leaned against the tent pole. "So I 'spose this fella is your-"

"No," Sam said instantly, her eyes darkening in anger. "I am nothing more than her _friend_. And the lot of you should be clearing off right about now. Some of us have serious work to do."

"Calm down, pal," the soldier with the dark hair said coolly, his gaze like daggers as he glared pointedly at Sam. "We got a right to be where we wanna. We ain't gotta leave just 'cuz you got your pants in a bunch."

"Yeah," the first dark haired man said, the one who she'd asked for directions. He shot his friends a sly grin which Sam didn't miss; her guard instantly went up. "Besides, we're all buddies here, right? We just wanna help out."

"And I'm the Queen of England," Sam growled, her brows drawing together.

"Your majesty!" the red-haired man mocked, earning guffaws from his two companions.

"Get lost, ya bums," she continued, ignoring the outburst, though it was fairly difficult. Every instinct inside of her demand that she make them pay for their insult. She'd spent her entire life fighting for her pride and dignity, and she wasn't about to be disrespected by a couple of big-mouthed soldiers who thought they were better than her.

"Take it easy, buddy," the second dark haired man said; he seemed to be the most reasonable of the group. "We're just-"

"I ain't your buddy. I ain't your pal. I ain't your nothin'. You got that?" Sam spat, brushing past them. "Get lost. We don't need your lot hanging around our medical tent. We're actually working, unlike some people."

"Now wait just a god damn min-" the first dark haired man began, his feathers obviously ruffled as he started after Sam. A soft hand on his arm stopped him, and he turned to see Lizzie smiling sheepishly.

"I'm very sorry. I do apologize for Sam's rude behavior. Um…uh, Sam just always had a very hard time making friends and getting along with people, but you couldn't ask for a more dedicated medic." She nodded, smiling and looking past them at the tent and spoke absently, forgetting who she was talking to. "She's also pretty nice, once you get to know her."

All three soldiers blinked suddenly.

"What?" the first one asked, his eyes going wide.

Lizzie looked confused. "What, 'what?'" she asked, clearly not understanding their sudden change in demeanor.

"You just said 'she.'"

"And 'her.'"

"What's going on here?"

Lizzie blushed so bright she could've put a tomato to shame. "Oh SHIT!" she shouted, looking flustered.

"Mouth, young lady!" came the reprimand from inside the tent.

Lizzie winced, and made to move past the soldiers, when the first one gently grabbed her elbow. "Hey, Lizzie, mind explainin' that to us?" The three had long since been introduced in Sam's absence; Sam just didn't stick around for introductions when she got there.

"Uh, I-I mean…well, you see…I…you know, I think you're hearing things!"

"Nuh-uh!" the red-haired man said immediately. "You said it, and we heard you! So spill! What's goin' on here?"

"Uh, well…" Lizzie scratched her neck nervously. "Samisreallyagirlbutdon'ttellherIsaidanythingorshe'llkillme!"

"…Say again?"

"S-Sam is…Sam is really a girl. But please, please, please for the love of all that is holy and good on this earth, don't tell her I told you. Pretend you figured it out all on your own! If she finds out I said anything…" She threw her hands into the air as her eyes darted back towards the tent nervously.

"Interesting," Bill mused, rubbing his chin.

"Bill…" Lizzie warned.

"What? I was just thinkin' bout how curious that was."

"Yeah," Babe piped up. "She don't look like no dame I ever seen. How come she's dressin' up like a man?"

"That," Lizzie growled. "You'll have to ask her yourself. Look, just don't give her a hard time, all right? She's had enough of that back home…she doesn't need any of that over here, understood?"

Toye, Bill and Babe exchanged looks, looking faintly concerned. "Yeah, understood."

888

"Hey there."

Sam looked up as another soldier entered the tent; it was the medic she'd observed helping Lizzie before she'd walked into the lion's den. Truth was, it was a bit nerve-wracking facing all three of those men outside; she was no stranger to unfair fights, but she knew when she was outmatched a thousand times over. She'd be damned, though, if she let a single bit of that anxiety show to _any_ one.

"Hello," Sam responded curtly, nodding her head as she picked up a clipboard which seemed to have been discarded by Lizzie. "I am to assume you're the medic from Easy Company?" When the man nodded, Sam turned back to the clipboard. "I expect you to be a bit more civil than your comrades out there. I imagine you've all had a hard time lately, but that's hardly call for such disrespect," she said dryly.

The man looked frozen for a moment, before he started into motion again, a contemplative frown on his face. "Beggin' your pardon, sir. They can be a bit overbearin' at times. I do apologize for them, sir."

"What's your name, corporal?"

"Uh, Roe, sir. Eugene Roe."

"And they sent you by yourself to get these supplies, I take it. Don't you have any other medics to help you out?"

"Just me and muh buddy, Spina. But he's got other things tuh tend to, sir."

"All right." Sam smiled faintly, then turned immediately back to the clipboard. "My name is Sam, Eugene. Don't worry about all that 'sir' stuff. It gets old after a while, all right?"

Eugene was in the middle of lifting a box of morphine and bandages when she spoke, and he paused in his work to stare at her curiously. "Uh, yes si-…I mean, Sam." He said the name thoughtfully, almost quizzically, before he went back to work, lifting the boxes.

As Eugene exited, Lizzie entered, looking flustered and nervous. Sam immediately looked up, and crossed the tent, checking her over as if looking for any obvious signs of injury. "You okay? They didn't do anything inappropriate did they? They say anything to you?"

"No, no. Stop your fretting, Sam," Lizzie replied distractedly, waving her off. "Listen, how about after this, we head to the pub and grab a drink, huh?"

"I don't think so, Liz. I got a lot of work to do here. Why don't you go? Have a good time. But you make sure to stick by your brother…and tell those soldiers to keep their dang hands to their dang selves."

Lizzie rolled her eyes at the familiar expression, shaking her head. "Sam, the day you take a day off and have some fun for a change, will be the day I sprout feathers and start flying." Sam shot her a look, and Lizzie chuckled. "All right, all right. I'll stick by Lew. But promise me, if you finish early, you'll come by and at least have a drink with us, all right?"

Sam smiled fondly, before going back to her clipboard. "Yeah, yeah. Sure. I promise. Now go have fun…" She paused, and thought a moment. "Not _too_ much fun, though, all right?"

"Spoilsport."

Sam waved her pen at Lizzie's retreating form, not noticing that as she left, she held open the flap for Eugene to re-enter. As he stepped inside, he promptly smacked his booted foot against one of the boxes. "Ow, fuck," he muttered softly to himself.

" _Mouth_ , young man," Sam shot back instantly, and then froze, turning to stare at Eugene, who had frozen in a similar position. "Sorry about that. Force of habit."

"You always correctin' people, si-um, Sam?" Eugene asked as he rifled through one of the boxes nearby. Sam rapped his knuckles with her pen.

"I just counted that," she chastised. "And sort of. My ma raised me never to curse, especially in front of …Especially in front of women. Just because we're overseas and away from our families and our values, shouldn't give us an excuse to become uncivilized idiots with no mastery over the English language. Every other word I hear is cursing over here, it seems, and I get a little tired of it, even if I slip up occasionally myself." She smiled secretively, and then gave a deep, throaty laugh. "Shit happens, I guess."

Eugene joined in the laughter, before going back to rifling through the box. Sam gave up on getting him out of there; she knew a few things would be missing but she didn't really mind all that much. Eugene seemed like a nice enough guy, and it wasn't often that Sam was able to talk with someone without getting into some kind of argument. It was mostly her fault, she realized, when she took offense to almost every little thing. She was just a complicated kind of gal, she supposed.

"How many more boxes of these you need, Eugene?" Sam asked curiously, only to look up and realize Eugene was staring at her. "What?"

"Nothin'," he said at last. "Just thought…yo' face…It seems so familiar. Have we met before?"

Sam frowned, and then shook her head. "Not that I know of. Where you from, Eugene?"

"Louisiana, half Cajun. Why?"

Sam had stilled, staring very intently at him for a few long, lingering seconds. "Louisiana? Me too. We lived in Maine before we moved to Louisiana, though, and we moved up north to New Jersey after Louisiana after two years. Where did you live?" 

"Bayou Chene…"

"…Well, I'll be darned. I lived near there with my parents. We bought a farm just outside of town until those oil companies took over and brought in those drills. They bought us out and we went to Jersey. We got a farm up there now. Imagine that."

Sam went back to studying her clipboard, but she could feel Eugene's scrutinizing gaze on her. "You jus' seem…So familiar. Like I met you some time buhfore now…"

Sam lifted her gaze to stare steadily back at Gene. Come to think of it, he _did_ seem somewhat familiar too. She was sure they'd never met though. So where had she seen him before? Sam was suddenly jerked out of her musings when Eugene snapped his fingers.

"I got it!" he shouted. "I 'member you now. You and I-" he suddenly blushed, looking somewhat ashamed. "-we got into a fight when we was young. I-I accused you of stealin' my fav'rite toy firetruck and…And then your daddy came along and scared me half to death. I think you moved a few weeks later. I don' 'member seein' you again after that…"

"Holy heck!" Sam shouted, pointing at Eugene with an imperious finger. "Now I remember! My mother gave me hell for that fight! It was the first time I ever came home with a black eye instead of a couple of scrapes. She was all kinds of angry." Sam rubbed her chin thoughtfully, and chuckled at the guilty look on Eugene's face.

"Aw, hey. Don't worry 'bout it, Gene. I try not to hold grudges when I can." She scribbled something down on the clipboard, and went back to taking inventory. "Funny, how things sorta come full circle, eh? Never imagined I'd see you again."

"Small world, I 'spose," Gene mused, snatching a few bandages from the box and stuffing them into his medic bag. He knew Sam saw him, but she said nothing. "Hey, I…Well, I couldn't help but overhear you an' Miss Elizabeth talkin' earlier…And since we're almost done here, why don't you and I head to the pub and meet the boys? I wouldn't mind a drink muhself."

Sam's pen paused on the paper, and she glanced up at Eugene curiously, before sighing heavily. "Aw, heck. Why not? I can always finish this tomorrow. It's not all that pressing anyways." She set the clipboard down and nodded. "All right Gene, let's go. I guess I _could_ use a drink too. I've had a pretty interesting day."


	3. More Boys I Meet

A/N: Aaaand number 3. This is going by fast. I'm gonna slow down the posting of chapters so I can finish up writing the end of the story and not be overwhelmed. But yeah, reviews are greatly appreciated!

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

8888

" _By doing, you become employable. It doesn't matter what the job is; by working, you learn new things, meet new people and are exposed to new ideas." -Kate Reardon_

 **Chapter 3: More Boys I Meet**

"Sam!"

Only a few moments after Sam and Gene had entered the pub, Sam was assailed by a blur of brunette hair, and nearly found herself toppling over backwards as a very giggly, and very happy Lizzie plowed into her. Sam reached out to steady the girl, before the heavy scent of alcohol assailed her senses.

"Dear God, Liz. Are you…are you _drunk_? _Already_?"

"No, no!" Lizzie protested, though the words came out a little slurred. "I'm jus' havin' fun is all." She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, eyes darting towards Gene. "Whoozzat?" Eugene recoiled slightly, looking as though he were trying to hold back laughter. "He gotcha to come out and have fun? I think I'mma grow wings and fly now, 'kay?"

"Lizzie, you've been here for a half hour. There's no _way_ …" Sam stopped as she caught sight of Lewis, and sighed. "Liz, have you been drinking with Lewis this entire time, by any chance?" Lizzie had often told Sam that her brother had a problem with alcohol, and judging by the quickness and efficiency with which Lizzie had gotten drunk, Sam was going to bet that it had something to do with Lewis. "Come on, Liz. We better get you home."

"I can walk her, if you like."

Sam turned to see Dick standing just beside her elbow, a small smile on his face. "I've got to look after Lew, too. Might as well get the pair home." Sam eyed him dubiously; she didn't know this man very well, and had only met him this morning. But he had an honest face, and if anything, Sam was a fairly good judge of character…for the most part.

"Oh…Okay," Sam said slowly, passing a giggling Lizzie off to Dick, who looked a little uncomfortable when she slung an arm around his shoulder. Yes, Sam decided. He was a good guy, and wouldn't try anything, especially if the blush and look on his face was anything to go by. "Just look after her. She should be coherent enough to show you the way. But if she can't…just ask someone. Anyone should be able to tell you where we're staying." She smiled faintly, looking contented. "Thank you, sir."

"Just 'Dick,' if you don't mind," he said amicably, leading Lizzie away and taking the elbow of a bleary eyed looking Nixon. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of each other, if these two have anything to say about it." He chuckled quietly as he led them away, and Sam turned to find Eugene staring at her.

"What?"

"Nothin'," he laughed. "Just the thangs you gotta put up with 'round here. You get that often?"

Sam followed him as they made their way over to the bar. "Not often. Lizzie usually knows her limit, and I'm usually around to keep her from going over it. But not today. She-"

"Heads up!"

Both Eugene and Sam turned at the same time to see a dart whizzing towards them. Both managed to duck at the last minute, and the dart sailed over their heads, smacking straight into a dart board.

"Hey there!"

Sam and Gene quickly gave the board a wide berth, but were stopped by a hand on Sam's shoulder. It was one of the soldiers from earlier, the one she'd stopped to ask for directions. "What do you want?" Sam asked, brows drawing together. She didn't think picking a fight here was a good idea; she was outnumbered, and she doubted Gene would be her backup.

"Just wanna see if you and Gene wanna join us in a friendly game of darts." When Sam eyed him dubiously, the soldier continued. "I'm Bill, by the way. Bill Guarnere. Nice ta meetcha." Sam stared at the hand he offered her as if it was a snake, but after a few moments of awkward silence, she tentatively reached out and took it.

"Sam Branigan. Likewise, I guess."

"Come on, Sam, and I'll introduce ya," the soldier said with a smile so wide, Sam wondered if his cheeks would split open. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Eugene had disappeared, and despaired of any heroic rescue from the Cajun medic. It looked like she was on her own for the time being.

"This here is George Luz, Joe Toye, Buck Compton, Babe Heffron, Johnny Martin and Bull Randleman." Bill guided her towards the small mass of soldiers, and Sam really wished her sense of duty hadn't taken a back seat to her need for a beer.

"Nice to meet you? Uh, I'm Sam." she managed, clearing her throat when her voice squeaked a bit. Bill, Babe and Joe all exchanged grins, but Buck, Martin, Bull and George seemed none the wiser, and then each nodded and offered their own greetings to the nervous looking soldier Bill had thrown their way.

"'Ey, Sam. You been here a long time, right?" Joe asked, exchanging glances with Babe and raising his eyebrows. Sam nodded hesitantly, looking a bit out of place. "Good. Then you're on our team."

"For what?"

"Darts, o' course," Babe replied simply, handing her three darts with a cheeky grin. Sam stared at them with a blank expression, before she sighed.

"Fine, fine. What are we betting?"

Babe and Joe once more exchanged looks, but this time, they were hesitant. "Uh, well, bettin' on things hasn't gone so well for us so far," Babe admitted with a sheepish smile. He rubbed the back of his neck and indicated a grinning George and Buck.

"We've wiped the floor with them," Buck said triumphantly, elbowing George in the ribs, who laughed and nodded.

"They didn't stand a chance!" he crowed, holding up two packs of hard-won cigarettes.

Sam raised an eyebrow, and turned to Babe and Joe. "Yeah, yeah. Just bet something already. I ain't got all day." The smirk she shot them when buck and George had their backs turned promised at least a small hope of winning back their beloved cigarettes.

"All right," Joe challenged, prodding George in the chest. "Two packs, again."

"Two packs?" Sam asked in faint annoyance. "That's it?"

Joe and Babe scratched their heads. "Uh, well…Four packs?" Joe tried, glancing at George and Buck for confirmation.

"Loser buys beer, too," Sam added, frowning at the darts and turning them over in her hands. "So, I have to hit that little red spot in the center? What am I aiming for here?" she asked curiously, turning to Joe and Babe as both men opened their mouths to protest the confirmation of the bet, but George and Buck already had twin grins on their face.

"Agreed!" they chorused in unison, earning groans from Babe and Joe.

"Hey, come on!" Joe protested. "Sam don't even know-"

 _Thunk_.

"Oh, sorry. Was I not supposed to aim for the bulls-eye?" Sam asked, smirking cockily. Babe and Joe looked at each other, and then at Buck and George, who's mouths had fallen open. There were two more successive ' _thunks_ ' and each one hit the bulls-eye dead-center.

"Aw, what the hell?!" George bemoaned, as Babe and Joe practically bounced on the heels of their feet. They held their hands out, and despite the grumbling, Buck and George forfeited their prizes.

"Sorry, gentlemen," Sam said with a faintly sheepish smile. "I been here a whole heck of a lot longer than you two. I got a lot of practice."

"Pay up, lieutenant. The next round is on you!" Joe crowed.

"For a girl," Babe whispered in Joe's ear. "She's pretty good. How come she's hidin' behind them men's clothes, I wonder? Think we should ask her? Tell her we figured it out on our own?"

As Buck and George moved off to grab the next round, and Bill, Martin and Bull were engaged in a conversation of their own with some replacements, Eugene reappeared, and handed Sam a glass of beer. "Sorry for leavin' you to these boys, Sam. Just went to grab a few drinks." Sam nodded and took the beer gratefully.

"Thanks Gene. I knew you didn't abandon me for any _good_ reason." She chuckled lightly, and Babe and Joe exchanged meaningful looks.

"When we leave," Joe whispered. "-then we'll ask her. We don't wanna cause a scene. If she's keepin' it hush-hush, then we don't want everyone to know about her secret. It could be pretty embarrassin'. She seemed to be gettin' along with Gene pretty well though. Think he knows?"

Babe watched Sam and Eugene interact, but they treated one another like old buddies from high school instead of a man and a woman who had met only a few hours before. Babe hesitantly shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. But they do act awful familiar around one another. Think they knew each other before this?"

"If he did," Joe answered. "Then he doesn't seem to realize she's a woman. Maybe she's been hidin' the fact a _lot_ longer than we know."

Babe chuckled lowly. "Maybe when Lizzie sobers up, we can get more info outta her."

"Doubt it," Joe snorted as Buck and George came back with the beers.

888

Sam downed the last of her beer, grimacing slightly at the taste, and stood up to leave, pushing her chair back with a loud screech of hardwood.

"Well, fellas. Have a nice evenin.' I got a lot of work to catch up on tomorrow morning. I'll see ya later." She touched the tips of two fingers to her brow in a faint salute, and headed out the door, hands in her pockets, and whistling a cheery tune to the chorus of 'Night Sam!' and 'See ya tomorrow!' that followed after her.

She was in fairly good spirits, considering she was going to need to wake up at the crack of dawn to catch up on inventory work and supply loading. The beer, though somewhat bitter in flavor, was warm and satisfying in the pit of her stomach, and the faint buzz it gave her felt somewhat pleasant. And, much to her surprise, she'd found that not all the soldiers around town were going to be a hassle. Many of the men from Easy were relatively laid back and charming (though she'd never admit it) and she found them easy to get along with (no pun intended).

What Sam did not see as she slipped out the door, were the three sets of eyes following her, and the three sets of booted feet marching up and out the door after her. As she strolled down the darkened street, however, the sound of footsteps following her had her on edge, and her shoulders stiffened, though her tuneless whistling didn't cease.

As she marched around a corner, she quickly slipped away from the sidewalk and into a side alley, blending in with the shadows as the sound of pounding feet skidding around the corner caught her attention. She observed her three stalkers, trying to figure out who they were in the sparse light of the moon, before she realized they were the three men form this morning. What, had they come looking for a fight? Well, Sam decided, if that's what they wanted, then she was going to bite the bullet and get this over with sooner rather than later. She wasn't going to run about looking over her shoulder. Even if Bill, Babe and Joe had acted all buddy-buddy at the pub, there was no guarantee it was real. Sam knew it was too good to be true.

As she stepped out of the shadows, she faintly caught the looks of surprise on the three men's faces. "What's the matter? Didn't expect me to catch you?" Sam asked. She took a step back, bracing her body and raising her knuckles in the fighter's stance her father had taught her that had served her so well over the years (with the promise to never, ever tell her mother about it). "All right. Let's get this over with. Shoulda known better than to trust that 'goodwill, we're-all-pals-here' act back there."

Joe, Babe and Bill looked even more surprised, and Sam was sure if they didn't stop being so shocked, their eyebrows would shoot up into their hairlines and disappear for good. "What's the matter? Don't like the odds?" Sam taunted, before Bill finally shook himself out of his surprised stupor.

"Girlie, you are one vicious little dame."

Sam froze instantly, her entire body rigid. Her hands clenched so hard, her knuckles turned white, and the color had drained from her face at an alarming rate. "What?" she asked softly, her voice cold and deadly. "What did you just say?"

"Shit Bill. Way to approach the topic with tact."

"'Ey, I got tact."

"Just not in this situation, apparently."

Both men were cut off when Sam was jolted out of whatever trance she'd fallen into, and surged forward with a look so full of anger, that Joe and Babe leaped backwards. She caught Bill by the scruff of his collar, and yanked him forward, much to his surprise. "Listen," she snarled. "I don't know what game you think you're playing, but you should keep your mouth shut or so help me, you won't live long enough to see the sunrise, understood?"

Sam never received an answer; a second later, her entire world tilted upside down and she found herself suddenly slammed onto the cobblestone road. A heavy weight fell on her and the breath was expelled out of her lungs in a 'whoosh.' She grunted when her arms were bound and held behind her back.

"Joe, what the hell?" Babe yelped as Joe pinned the dazed sergeant to the ground. "What are you doing? She's a girl! You can't _do_ that!"

Joe lowered his gaze to the woman pinned on her stomach beneath him. "Woman or not, she's still a soldier, or at least, she's pretending to be. And there ain't no call for that kind of behavior." He jerked lightly on her hand, and Sam growled. " _Understood_ , sergeant?"

Sam grumbled something under her breath, and Joe leaned closer. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I said 'bite me, you big moron!'" Sam shouted, struggling against her human bonds. Joe looked faintly surprised, before Bill reached down and hauled him off the girl.

"'Ey, don't worry 'bout it, Joe. She's just angry; I would be too if someone called me a 'dame.' Course, I'm not a girl in disguise now, am I?" He gave Sam a very pointed look as she picked herself up off the ground and dusted herself off.

Sam's only response was a deep, feral growl in his direction. "So," she demanded after a moment's hesitation. "What are you gonna do now, hm? Tell everyone and laugh about it?"

Bill waved a hand in front of his face, a smirk lifting the corner of his lips. "Nah, ain't my style. And 'sides, I don't see who yer hurtin' by pretending to be a soldier."

"Hey," Sam snapped. "I'm not pretending. I'm a sergeant. And just 'cuz I don't carry a gun, doesn't make me any less of a soldier."

Joe and Babe exchanged looks as Bill just shook his head, his smirk fading. "Whatever ya say, girlie. If you don't mind me askin', how come yer doin' this? Don't seem to be any real benefits, if you ask me. I think you'd look better in a skirt."

Sam was tempted to slug him, but clenched her fists at her side instead. "The benefit, sergeant, is that I can do my damn job in peace without anyone asking the where, when or why of it. You think a 'dame in a skirt' could do their job as well as a man by being hassled all the time by the very men she's trying to help out? No, thanks. 'Sides, I work better this way. No one bothers me, no one notices me, and I stay out of everyone's way. And-and it's not like I lied to anyone! Everyone just assumed that I was a man when they looked at me!" Her anger was dissipating now, replaced with cold, hard dread in the pit of her stomach. She was sure they would tell everyone. She wasn't about to go back to being a skirt wearing nurse.

"Well, when ya look at it that way," Toye mused, rubbing his chin. "Sounds pretty reasonable." Babe and Bill nodded, seeming to agree, before Bill flounced forward and threw an arm over Sam's shoulders, ignoring the way she flinched hard at the contact. Geeze, poor kid. She really was spooked, wasn't she?

"Listen here, doll. You can trust us. We ain't gonna tell no one unless ya give the all clear. So don't worry, all right kid?"

Sam eyed him dubiously, trying to inch her way out from under his arm. She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him, but to be honest…well, they seemed like okay guys. Still, she wasn't about to turn her back on them.

Men were deceitful, that much she'd learned in life.

88888

It had been a few days since her 'not-really-a-secret' secret had been exposed to the three members of Easy company, and Sam was still on edge. Lizzie had noticed a change in her friend, but didn't mention it past a few casual remarks, which Sam rebuffed quickly and efficiently. The usually tight-lipped sergeant had become even more closed off though, since her night at the bar, and Lizzie was growing both frustrated and tired of it. It took a few hours of the silent treatment for her to finally crack. The two were sorting through supplies in a makeshift medical tent when Lizzie confronted Sam.

"All right, tell me what the hell is wrong right now, Sam Branigan! Or so help me, I'm gonna stuff this roll of bandages down your throat!"

"Mouth, young lady," Sam admonished automatically, before heaving a sigh and running her hand along her face. She sat down heavily on one of the crates, looking faintly exhausted. She hadn't been sleeping much, the worry and dreaded gnawing away at the pit of her stomach. It was enough to keep her up at night.

"You haven't been yourself since that night at the bar," Lizzie continued, ignoring Sam's rebuke and sitting beside her friend and fellow nurse. "So tell me, what's going on? What happened?"

Sam pulled her hat from her head, running her fingers through the short red curls that bounced around her ears. Her hair was just slightly longer than regulation, just enough that if you squinted real hard, and she took off her hat or helmet, she would look the part of the female she was desperately trying not to play. "I got ambushed that night," she admitted, giving her shoulder a shrug. She was still smarting, and her stomach had a bruise on it the size of Alaska, courtesy of Joe Toye. It was all the more reason to be pissed at them.

"Ambushed?" Lizzie's face was a study in shock, but it quickly shifted to righteous anger. "What the hell do you mean, 'ambushed'?!"

Sam ignored her friend's vulgarity, and leaned back, fingers nervously playing with the fabric of her hat. "You remember Bill Guarnere, Joe Toye, and Babe Heffron, right?" At her friend's nod, she continued. "Well, they followed me after I left, told me they knew I was a gal. And I sorta…tried to punch one of them out and got my ass handed to me."

Lizzie's shock returned, and she flew off the crate, fists clenched at her side. "They fucking hit you?!" she demanded, and ignored Sam's scowl at the words. "I'm gonna go find those bastards and give them a piece of my mind!"

Sam shot up too, hands reaching out to grab Lizzie's shoulders. "God, hold on," she cried, squeezing Lizzie's shoulders reassuringly, more to keep her from running off that to make her feel better. "Now you listen. We settled it, and they agreed to keep all of this to themselves. I-I mean…They said they would. But I don't know if I can trust them."

"Lew said they were all good men," Lizzie told her quietly, still looking angry. "And if Lew says they're all right, then I believe them. Plus, he hasn't told, and he knows your secret."

Sam raised a dubious brow. "You sure he hasn't said anything?"

"Um…Well…"

"Lizzie. How did they know I was a girl? No one has ever been able to tell straight off the bat before, and they had no problem seeing through the oversized ODs."

"Uhhhh…"

"Lizzie, God damn it!" Sam shouted, throwing her hands in the air. "That was you, wasn't it!? How the hell could you do that to me?!"

"Sam, I didn't-"

"Stuff it. I don't wanna hear it." Sam jammed her hat back on her head, fixing it in place with a few well-hidden bobby pins from her pocket. "I am so mad right now, Elizabeth Nixon! You had no right tellin' them _anything_ about me!" She brushed past the shell-shocked nurse, headed towards the tent flap.

"Where are you going?"

"To get some fucking air, Elizabeth. And maybe when I come back, I won't want to smack you in the face with your own medical bag!"

8888888888

"I'm going to fucking kill you, William Guarnere!"

Bill looked up sharply from his game of cards as a very angry nurse stormed towards him. His first instinct was to run. He wasn't an idiot and by God, he knew a woman's fury wasn't something to take lightly. But despite his initial gut reaction, he stood his ground, cards clenched tightly in his fist. Joe Toye, Babe, Doc Roe, Malarkey, Muck, Buck, and George Luz were sitting around a makeshift table (i.e. a bunch of supply crates) playing a very sorry game of poker (which Malarkey was currently winning) as Lizzie approached. Each of the men felt a little thrill of fear run up their spine at the sight of her, but stood their ground rather admirably.

"What can I do for ya, my lovely Lizzie?" Bill asked smoothly, rearranging his cards in his hand so he could get his eyes off the fuming nurse. She was giving him the willies.

"Don't you dare 'lovely Lizzie' me, Bill!" She marched over and he was surprised (and a bit concerned for his safety) when she reached out and hauled him up by the front of his collar.

"Whoa, whoa!" he cried, throwing his hands up in an 'I surrender!' gesture. "What's goin' on? What's got you so angry?"

"You know exactly what I'm angry about," she hissed, leaning in close. The other men around the 'card table' leaned in to get a better idea of what was going on; this was priceless.

"What's the matter, Bill?" Luz joked, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. "Dame got yer tongue?"

The look Lizzie shot him shut him up really quick as she leaned closer to Bill, nearly nose to nose. "You told," she growled, and Bill's eyebrows nearly shot up into his hairline. "You told Sam what I said. You confronted her about it, didn't you? Why?"

Behind her, Eugene shifted in surprise, and Babe glanced at him quickly, before he turned back around, frantically making a cutting motion across his neck to try and salvage the situation. Lizzie didn't seem to see him.

"Look, Lizzie. I didn't tell no one about Sam. You, on the other hand…" His grimace was hard to conceal as he motioned vaguely to the men sitting around them, looking far too interested in the scene. Lizzie turned, her eyes wide. A few of the men seemed confused, a couple of muttered 'who the fuck is Sam?' slipping through their lips, but there was dawning understanding on one face.

"Beggin' your pardon," Eugene began haltingly, still wary of Lizzie after watching her storm the camp, so to speak. "But…did you say…sergeant Branigan was a 'her'?"

88888

Sam wandered the cobblestone streets, boots thudding aimlessly as she picked her way past trucks and soldiers headed this way and that. She didn't quite see where she was going, just eager to be away from the medical tents and away from her apparently loud-mouthed friend long enough to cool down.

She wasn't really mad about her secret getting out, she supposed, because it was less of a secret and more of a convenience. She was mostly angry that the trust she'd placed in Lizzie had been shattered. She'd trusted her friend – her best friend, she dared to venture—not to tell anyone about anything about her. But it seemed that at the sight of the first handsome man back from action, Lizzie's mouth had gained a mind of its own. Sam was a private person, at least when it came to her mind and her choices, and she didn't like people violating that privacy or breaking her trust.

Sam didn't dress like a solider, like a man, because she wanted to feel like one, nor because she thought of herself as a boy. She dressed this way because it made her comfortable; because in the thick of it, when lives needed saving and every second counted, she couldn't do her job in heels. She couldn't wear a dress that made her feel exposed and vulnerable. She'd grown up in pants, and she saw no problem with wearing them, even if she did look like a man. Some people did; some people thought it was weird, or wrong, or in appropriate. But Sam could care less; she wanted to be herself, and to live comfortably, and she didn't see anything wrong with that.

 _Most_ of her superiors didn't mind, either. They knew she was a woman and they didn't give a good God damn what she wore, as long as she did her job. Since the men had left to fight in France, she'd just been…mistaken as a man, and mostly by the unfamiliar female nurses and civilians left in town. She'd never made an effort to correct it either (and had used it to her advantage more often than not). She supposed it had come with perks, as she'd once told Lewis Nixon. It was helpful not to have to fight for supplies, or to get into places, or worry about being hassled.

In the long run, yeah, okay, maybe she didn't care as much as she acted like she did. But the more men who knew about her being a woman, the more people might start to whisper. And the more people whispered, the more likely it was that someone would get disgruntled and force her back into the dress and heels. And in the end, that would affect her ability to do her job. And make her unhappy and uncomfortable.

She smirked quietly to herself. "'Sides," she muttered quietly, kicking a stone along the street, hands shoved in her pockets. "I can run faster in pants."

The sound of booted footsteps caught her attention, and she turned just in time to see Lewis Nixon overtake her, strolling along at her side without permission. She arched an eyebrow at him, some of her annoyance with his sister leeching onto the 'innocent' intelligence officer. "Can I _help_ you?" she demanded, her strides slowing until she was stopped in the street, facing a grinning Nixon.

"I sure hope you can. I've been lookin' all over for you." He paused, glancing over her shoulder, and then around them. "Where's Lizzie?" he questioned, and now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow at her.

"Back at the medical tents, sorting through supplies. What can I do for you, lieutenant?" Her tone indicated that she wasn't too interested in helping with whatever it was he needed her for, and Lewis found that rather amusing. He dug around in his pocket, pulling out a somewhat crumpled piece of paper.

"Right, right. I came to give you this, on my CO's orders." He handed over the piece of paper, and Sam took it with a scowl, unfolding the crumpled letter with a grimace. Her eyes scanned over what was written, before widening almost comically. She glanced up at Lewis, as if to be sure she was reading right. "That's right," he said with a nod. "Reassignment. Colonel Sink wanted someone from the 42nd to transfer to the 326th Airborne medical company who had rank, knowledge and know-how. And since Lizzie is out of the question, I volunteered your name."

Sam's scowl returned, replacing the surprise as she stuffed the letter in her pocket. "Why the sudden transfer, Lewis? And why me? I'm a girl. Doesn't he know that?" she demanded, dispensing with the titles. If Lewis had been anyone else, he'd have probably called her on it.

"The 326th took some pretty heavy casualties in Normandy. They need replacements who can handle some of the tougher jobs; people who don't pass out at the sight of blood." He ignored Sam's snort of derision. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But some of the replacements are so green, it's like a God damn St. Patrick's Day parade." Sam's dark look darkened further. "Oh, shit, right. You're of the Irish persuasion. Sorry 'bout that."

"Geeze, Lewis," she growled, continuing down the street with Nixon on her tail. "For such an intelligent officer, you ain't _got_ a lot of intelligence, do ya?"

"I got _plenty_ of intelligence," Nixon snorted. "I'm an _intelligence_ officer.; you just said so yourself and you know they picked me for a _reason._ And yeah, sure, Sink knows you're a girl. But you've got glowing reports, and your superior officers really sang your praises; they told him he couldn't pick anyone better, and they said you'd probably be pretty good in the field, especially because you had no qualms about getting dirty. Some of the higher ups have really been considering the whole 'woman medic' thing, and I think Sink might be using you as a guinea pig. If you ask me, I think it's a fantastic idea."

He shrugged, grinning. "And anyway, this should be right up your alley. You'll be one of the medics who can show the new guys what for. I assume you know how to deal with battlefield wounds and causalities?" At Sam's narrow-eyed stare, he shrugged again. "Just wanted to ask. I know you guys got your fair share of men from the Normandy invasion shipped back over here, but I wasn't sure how much experience you actually had. Lizzie said you were a supply officer."

"Newly promoted," Sam intoned quietly, her eyes straying to her booted feet. "I've only been a supply officer for a month. So yeah," she agreed, and Nixon saw shadows dancing behind her eyes. "I've had plenty to keep me busy before that. Lizzie and I were up to our elbows in that nightmare. At least we could do some good for the boys who were shipped back over. I'm not sure how I feel about being a guinea pig…but I love the idea of the army being more inclusive and welcoming towards women in combat. If I can help make it a thing, then yeah. Even if I think the battlefield might be a different ball game than what I'm used to, I'll give it my best."

She shrugged one shoulder, and Nixon's smile widened. "That's what I like to hear," he replied, slinging an arm over her shoulder, ignoring the way she stiffened with annoyance. "Between you and me, I'm glad you're so accepting. My only other option was Lizzie, and there was no way in hell I was reassigning her. Too dangerous."

"I'm glad to see you care so much for me," Sam answered dryly, itching to pick his arm off her shoulders. "So…what all will this entail exactly?"

"A little of this and a little of that." Sam pinched his hand, and Nixon yelped, removing his arm from her shoulders and rubbing the abused appendage. "Geeze, ow, okay." He sighed heavily. "Well, you didn't hear from me, but we'll be moving out soon. Something about doing a jump into a certain place." He didn't provide extra answers to that, despite the dark look his companion gave him. "You're gonna receive jump training before then, 'cuz we want you dropping in with the 326th and the 506th. A lot of the 326th is going in gliders, on account of the equipment they need to bring with them, but a few essentials, like yourself, are coming with us. So as long as you aren't afraid of heights, you'll be fine. You're basically going to be a field nurse, medic, whatever the hell you wanna call it. I happened to recommend that Sink put you in the vicinity of Easy as an attachment medic for our company, so we could keep an eye on you. He agreed, but on the condition that you are supposed to be watched at all times to be sure you're kept as safe as can be, unless it's absolutely necessary that you be up in the front with the flyin' bullets. No heroics, no funny business, zip. Keep to the requirements and everything will be right as rain. Before that happens, he wants you to train a few of the new medics, and hook up with some of the veteran medics from the 326th."

"So, wait, I have to have jump training? As in…jumping out of a plane?" The idea made her slightly queasy. "And how long do I have before we move out? Please don't say 'days.'" She was trying to wrap her head around all of this; up until now, she'd just been a nurse, and a supply officer. She was used to sterile environments, performing makeshift surgeries, wrapping wounds, fixing people up. Sure, she'd seen her share of blood and gore, but this was a whole new world, and whole other ball game. She'd be jumping into combat, a terror in and of itself. And the jump alone was enough to make her rethink agreeing so easily. She didn't know if she was prepared for this, mentally or physically. But she supposed she could try. "Where am I going for jump training? And when do I meet the medics?" she heard herself say, still dazed by the realization that things were going to get real hairy, real soon.

"Yep, out of a plane. And no, not days. A while longer than that, I imagine." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The medics you'll meet after your initial training. As for jump training…You'll head to Chilton Foliat. There's an…interesting man there by the name of Herbert Sobel who will be your instructor." Lewis's smile was eerie as Sam glanced at him. "I think you're gonna love him."

88888888

"Lewis, where the hell is Sam?"

Nixon looked up from his bacon sandwich to see his sister standing in the doorway of Dick's office, glaring at him as though he'd just lit her favorite dress on fire. He chewed slowly, waiting a couple of beats before he answered; "Chilton Foliat."

Dick, who was trying to get some of the paperwork done that had been dumped on his desk that morning, glanced up briefly, sensing that, that was not the answer Lizzie wanted. His assumption was correct when he saw her face darken with fury.

"Why is she at Chilton Foliat? And why the hell couldn't you or her be bothered to tell me a damn thing?!" Lizzie marched inside, slamming the door behind her to avoid the curious gazes of the officers and privates who were wandering the halls outside. "She just up and left last night, not a word, not a sound. I thought she was just out late, but when I woke up in the morning, she'd never come home! She's gone! She packed her stuff up and left!" Nixon's cheeky remark died on his lips when he saw the real distress in his sister's face. "It's my fault, isn't it? It's because of my big mouth. It's because I broke a promise to her, isn't it? She decided to leave because of me!"

Dick, by now, was leaning back in his chair, eyes darting from his friend to Nixon's sister, curious, but wisely keeping quiet. He was now well aware of Sam Branigan's gender and identity, and he had been curious as to why she'd kept it a secret. Or at least, why she never sought to correct anyone who mislabeled her.

"No, Liz, it's not your fault," Lewis began, trying to his best 'comforting' tone. He put down his sandwich, and moved to embrace his sister, who stiffened slightly, before allowing herself to be enfolded in her brother's arms. "I don't know why she didn't tell you, and I think that's something you should hash out with her, but she didn't really have a choice about going. She's been reassigned to the 326th Airborne Medical Company, and she had to leave immediately for jump training. She probably didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

He could feel his sister trembling in his arms, and was surprised that she was so upset about Sam's absence. He knew they were close, but he'd never imagined they were this close. Maybe he should have forced Sam to say goodbye, instead of hustling her on the first jeep to Chilton Foliat.

"I just thought-" Lizzie began, swiping at her eyes, drying the traitorous tear that escaped. "-that she left because of me. I-I mean she doesn't care _that_ much if people know she's a girl, even if she didn't like it getting out. But I never thought she'd leave because I said something. I just wanted to tell her I'm sorry." And that she was sorry for screwing up with all the other guys too; Sam had yet to know about that, and Lizzie was really tempted to keep it to herself. She could just blame Bill or Joe or Babe for that one.

"Aw, Liz, you'll get your chance. She'll be back in no time. I promise." Lewis slanted a look at his friend, Dick, who had wisely kept quiet up until then.

"Right," Winters agreed, clearing his throat. Lizzie gave a start, as if just noticing her was there, and flushed prettily; she was making a royal ass out of herself in front of an officer, and that was beyond embarrassing. "She'll be back before you know it. She won't be gone more than a week or so, promise."

Lizzie felt something heavy lift from her shoulders at the thought of seeing her friend again—of being able to apologize to her. "Fine," she spat, turning on her heel. "She'd better be. Or I will hunt you down, Lewis, and slap you into next year." With that, she marched out in a flurry of flouncing brunette hair and swirling white skirts.

Lewis turned to his friend, a long-suffering smile on his face. "I have no idea where she gets that," he quipped, sounding amused.

"Yeah," Dick muttered, shaking his head. "I'm sure you don't. Anyway, did you tell the officers about Sam joining us?"

"Of course. They'll let them know after she gets back," Nixon replied, taking another bite of his almost forgotten sandwich as he returned to his seat.

"And what did you instruct them to say about her?"

"I just told them to tell the boys that we were getting a new medic. Whatever else they say is up to them. I mean, the NCOs and officers know Sam's a girl for sure but…well, I don't care either way, and Sink gave me no specific instructions to tell the rest of the boys she'd be a girl."

"Sounds about right, I suppose, although you should have told them to let them know up front. It would've been easier to keep an eye on her," Dick mused, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "I don't like the idea of all this, Nix. It doesn't sit right."

"What? A woman in combat, or a woman who is indistinguishable from a _man_ in combat?"

Dick shot him a look and Lewis snapped his mouth shut with a grin. "You know what I mean. We'll need to watch her, Nix. Let the officers know to keep an eye on her; I don't like her being as close to Easy as she will be. It's too dangerous. But Sink was right. We need more medics, desperately; maybe not women medics, but medics nonetheless. Doc and Spina can't handle it all alone. And she's a good nurse, from what I heard. She can tough it out. I think she'll make a fine addition to the company, and maybe help Sink and the higher ups with whatever experiment they're conducting regarding women in combat."

"Top of her class," Nixon recited, as though having said it before. "But with an attitude problem. She's listed as insubordinate because she didn't want to wear a _dress_." He seemed to find that hilarious. "I think they finally just gave up and let her do what she wanted. I heard from the head matron at the hospital that she's a tireless worker, and she does well under pressure. She helped a lot of men coming in from Normandy before she was promoted. I think she'll be able to do some good out there."

Winters sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. "I really hope it's worth it, Nix. I don't know what I'd do if she got killed on my watch."

88888

A week passed for Sam like the days were being dragged through the mud, much like she was.

She spent most days and nights slogging through muck, learning to jump from fake airplanes without 'breaking her legs' or her 'neck.' She ran for miles in the pouring rain, in full gear, with all of her supplies and medical equipment. She didn't complain when her blisters developed blisters and her muscles screamed at her to rest. She never said a word when the rain soaked through her clothes, chilling her to the bone. She kept her mouth shut when her commanding officer screamed at her to 'try harder,' yelled at her for 'falling behind' and glared at her and told her she didn't have what it took to jump from a plane.

She hated Herbert Sobel, she realized only five minutes and thirty-four seconds into her training.

He was breaking her down, and she wanted to say it was so he could build her back up again, but she was feeling like she'd never crawl out of the ditch he was battering her into. He didn't give a damn if she was a woman; he wanted her to run faster, work harder, and all but die on her feet to be a 'better medic.'

She was sure she couldn't take anymore of him, right up until she had to make her first of four jumps.

Standing at the door, feeling the wind rush past her, seeing the countryside below her, and feeling the knot in the pit of her stomach dissolve like a breeze, she forgot about Captain Sobel. She forgot about grueling marches and slogs through the mud and the ache in her bones and her muscles. All she could see and feel was the air and the sky and the freedom of falling as she jumped. When the wind snagged her chute and snapped her back up, she felt an exhilaration like she'd never felt before. She watched the ground drift below her, the clouds roll above her, and the plane leave her to the mercy of the air.

It was the most freeing and wonderful feeling she'd ever felt.

And she did it three more times without fail.

8888

Before Sam returned to Aldbourne, she was scheduled to meet medics from the 326th in the town of Marlborough only a few miles away. Her stomach twisted nervously as the jeep bounced her into the town, watching faces of soldiers and civilians alike flash by on her way. She'd been told that the medics were here for supplemental training, and she'd spend three days getting to know them before heading back to Aldbourne and her attachment to Easy.

The jeep she was riding in rumbled to a stop, and her driver nodded at her, indicating that the small farm he'd brought her to was her destination.

"Thanks," she told him absently, ignoring his faint half grin as she stepped out of the jeep, clutching her new medic bag close to her hip. It had become a sort of nervous habit in the last week of training when she'd been forced to run or crawl or found herself being reprimanded for doing something wrong; her hands just immediately went to the strap, holding on as though it were some sort of lifeline.

As she approached the barn, she noticed two groups of men just inside the large, open double doors. They were smoking, chatting, but generally seemed to be ignoring each other, for the most part. One group consisted of only two men ( _was that a group or a pair?_ she wondered), while the other group had four. Hesitant to approach the larger one, she instead opted to head towards the two men, who stopped their conversation to watch her walk towards them. As she stopped just in front of them, she paused, unsure of how to proceed. This was a little out of her element; she was used to working alone or with Lizzie, and introducing herself to a bunch of men she was supposed to train and work alongside was a sort of new and daunting.

"Um…"

"Are you sergeant Branigan?" one of the men asked. He had blue eyes and dark hair, and his face was closed off, distrustful. He eyed her as though she were some sort of speck on his uniform that he wanted to remove.

"Yes, I am. Sam Branigan. And you are…?"

"They didn't even tell you our names?" The second man replied incredulously, and Sam instantly liked him better. He had a more open face, one that she could tell saw a lot of laughter.

"Er, well, no…"

The first man was peering at her with narrowed eyes, and Sam resisted the urge to take a step back. Instead, she canted her chin, returning his look with one of her own. "So," she demanded. "You gonna tell me your names?"

"Sure," the second man replied amiably. "I'm sergeant Lew Helman. And this here is sergeant Sidney Seda. We're the senior medics from the 326th. Or at least, two of them."

Sam raised an eyebrow, a faint smile on her face; yeah, she definitely liked Lew better. "Glad to meet the two of you." She stuck out her hand, and Lew took it instantly, shaking it with vigorous abandon and a wide smile. "Did they tell you _anything_ about me, by chance?" Sam was curious as to what exactly they knew about her. When Lew shrugged and shook his head, her eyes flickered from man to man. "Eh, well…"

"You're a girl."

Sam gave a start, and so did Lew, both of them turning wide eyes to Sidney, who had finally let up on the narrow-eyed look he was shooting Sam. Instead of looking angry, now he just looked upset. His mouth was turned down in a firm frown, and Sam felt a scowl slip onto her face, almost like second nature, defensive walls and guard instantly thrown up. Lew turned from his friend to Sam, his mouth open as he looked her up and down.

"No way. You're not a girl…are you?"

Sam resisted the urge to wipe the dumb look off his face with her fist, and instead, folded her arms tightly across her chest to keep her twitching fingers from reaching out and wringing Sidney's neck. "Yeah. I am. So what? Got a problem with it?"

Lew immediately held his hands up, shaking his head when he saw the look on her face. "Uh-uh no ma'am, not a problem at all!" he rushed to assure, nervously looking between a smirking Sidney and a scowling Sam. "It's just…I mean…No one told us you were a girl. And when you walked up…" he turned to his friend, and accusing finger lifting to point imperiously at him. "How did you know, Sid? Did command tell you?"

"Nah," Sidney drawled, flashing Sam a white-toothed smile. Sam's scowl deepened, though a blush crept across her face without her permission. "But the way you walk. The way you talk and your face. You're different, and you stand out." He gestured to Sam's sour look. "I have never met a man with a face like yours; it's too smooth and perfect and round. You look like a peach."

Sam blinked. She'd never been compared to a fruit, ever. That was a new one. "Fine," she scoffed. "So you know I'm a girl. Now that we've got that out of the way, maybe we can get to work? If all you guys do is sit around like this, then I can see why you needed new medics. You're the least productive ones I've ever met."

Sidney didn't seem concerned about her insults. "Relax, Red. Don't be upset just because I called you out on your…really bad disguise? I don't know why you dress like that, but I'm bettin' you have your reasons and they aren't my business. And don't give me that face." He pointedly ignored her glare. "I just happen to have sharper eyes than most of the men around here. Nothing gets past me. If you're smart, you'll take a leaf outta that book; sure helps when you're a medic." He tapped his nose, chuckling. "So don't worry. And we've got plenty of time to get to work. In fact, Lew and I were just about to introduce ourselves to the replacements. We were waiting for you." His grin was wide, bright and–Sam had to admit—infectious. "Now that you're here, we can get the show on the road. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces when they find out that you're a girl."

Sam felt panic rise up in her chest, but quickly tamped it down; she didn't have time to be concerned about what the men thought of her. Sidney and Lew seemed welcoming enough, even if Lew was still eyeing her like she was some sort of rare bird. So why should she expect anything different from the replacements? She was, technically, a replacement herself, albeit one with a little more experience under her belt.

"Fine," Sam grumbled, hiking her bag up on her shoulder. "Let's do it."

888

The four other men in the barn were named Brenden Gibson, Tom Sledge, Toby Stone, and Martin Burgen. All four were replacement medics with the 326th. Lew and Sidney had been with the company since the start, and had already seen combat in Normandy; they were seasoned veterans, and they treated the whole training affair like it was all old hat. Neither seemed to concerned about having to train so many new replacements, and Sam envied them when she saw the practiced way they instructed the other men.

All four replacements expressed varying levels of disbelief or annoyance at her gender, but Sam chose to ignore it, however difficult it was. More than once she'd held back from smacking Sledge upside the head for a snide remark. But for the most part, Lew and Sidney kept them in line. Sidney, in particular, seemed to growl more at the men when they made a remark about Sam. And while she went about her business, deflecting the mumbles and rebuffing the rude gestures, Sidney didn't let them go. He was more than happy to dress down one of the new privates for 'disrespecting an officer.'

At the end of the first day, Sam felt that, between the three of them, she, Lew and Sidney had managed to get the replacements more up to snuff than before. Tomorrow they would work on field dressing and how to handle battlefield casualties smoothly, quickly and efficiently. While she looked forward to it, Sam was also rather tired. A full week of Sobel was starting to wear on her.

"I'm heading off to bed," Sam declared once the replacements had cleared off and it was only her, Lew and Sidney left. They'd wheedled her into staying up with them, talking quietly and playing cards (which she was terrible at).

"Already, huh?" Sidney quipped, cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. "You that tired?"

Sam rolled her eyes in his direction, placing her cards down and shrugging. "Hey, you try running your butt off for a week straight and tell me you aren't tired. I'm gonna hit the hay." She stood, grabbing her medic bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "Uh, where are we billeted, by the way?"

Lew and Sidney exchanged a look. "Eh, _here_ ," Lew replied, looking uncomfortable. "But if you don't wanna stay here with us, we can find you somewhere else to sleep. I mean, whatever you're comfortable with, Sam."

"Stuff it, Helman," Sam grouched, rolling her eyes. "I don't care where I sleep, as long as I _get_ to sleep." Feeling somewhat daring, a smirk curled up over her face. "Unless you get handsy during the night. Then I might have to find somewhere else to stay."

Sidney guffawed as Lew's face turned bright red. "Okay, Red, you're officially one of my new favorite people," he quipped, elbowing Lew in the shoulder. The other man glared at him. "If you don't wanna sleep with him, you could always sleep with me." He waggled his eyebrows, winking to show he was only joking. Sam raised an eyebrow of her own, though her smile was slowly growing; she really did like these two. They were like Abbot and Costello, and they actually made her laugh.

The whole day she'd been ignoring the rude remarks from the replacements, and Sidney always made sure that every time someone said something snide, he followed it up with a good hiding. Lew would follow up the snide remark with kind words, assurances that they were wrong, and whatever they said was just fueled by silly insecurity. They really seemed to want to look out for her, and Sam found herself touched by their concern, though somewhat annoyed that it was necessary in the first place.

They were some of the first men she actually…liked. _Genuinely_. Well, besides Eugene Roe, who was a nice guy in his own right. These two were her fellow sergeants, part of her squad in the 326th, and she decided that, even if she was only here to train with them for a few days before going back to Easy, she'd probably miss them.

"Hey Sid," Sam asked, after the two men laughed at their own jokes (Well, Sidney laughed and Lew just scowled and muttered threats of bodily harm). "So, when I leave here…will I see you guys again? I mean-" She paused, looking unsure. "-I'll be with Easy. And you guys will be here so…"

Both men stopped laughing, exchanging looks that seemed to hold more meaning than Sam was privy to or could even understand. "To be honest," Sidney hedged, scratching the back of his neck. "We aren't really sure. We'll see each other, I'm certain, but we won't be serving directly together. In any case, I wouldn't worry about it too much, Red." He stood up, dropping his cards and giving a stretch, before ruffling her hair, chuckling at the scowl that immediately covered her face. "Come on; I'll show you to your bunk. We've got a lot to do tomorrow, and not much time to do it."

Lew stood up as well, nodding with a smile, and the two started off into the back of the barn that Sam had first assumed was just a hang out, but quickly realized was actually their temporary barracks. She watched their backs, watched them walking away from her for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. She really hoped she would see them again; combat was never certain. And before they met on the battlefield once more, one, or all of them could be dead.

Pushing those morbid thoughts out of her mind, Sam took a deep breath and followed them into the dark.

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Eugene Roe was confused.

To say he'd been surprised at Miss Elizabeth's confession about Sam Branigan was an understatement; he was downright floored. It wasn't because he disapproved in any way of her choice to hide who she was, but that he had honestly never known she was a girl. Hell, he'd gotten into a fist-fight with her as a child and he'd still never known. He hadn't been friends with Sam Branigan back then, but he knew of her, knew she was a fighter, but he (and many others, he'd venture to say) hadn't the slightest clue about her gender.

Thinking about it had driven Gene to near distraction in the past week, in which Sam was conspicuously absent. He'd ventured so far as to ask Lizzie where Sam had gotten to, and received a vague reply about 'extra training' from the younger Nixon. Confused, he had nodded thoughtfully and continued on his way, left to chew over his own thoughts on the matter.

He wasn't upset. Not at all (well, maybe at himself for inadvertently hitting a girl when he was a kid). He was, however, curious. And contrary to his rather unobtrusive personality, when Eugene Roe got curious, he was bound and determined to satiate that curiosity. The only way of doing that was to talk to Sam.

Eugene sat outside of one of the medical tents, distractedly rolling bandages as he stared off into space, brows drawn down over his dark eyes. The honk of a jeep as it sped by startled him out of his trance, and he looked up just in time to see a familiar face go by him. "Sam?" he muttered to himself, lifting up off the crates. Sam seemed to have seen him because she flashed him the smallest of waves and a smile before her jeep bounced out of sight.

"'Ey, Doc, where ya headed to?"

Gene turned before his feet had carried him more than a few steps, catching sight of a shock of red hair that was fairly familiar. "Heffron," he greeted in his deep voice, dipping his head. "Sergeant Toye, Sergeant Guarnere." He could see a few others, Malarkey, Muck, Luz and Penkala trailing behind, looking like they were headed somewhere. "Off for drinks, fellas?"

"Yeah," Toye confirmed, pulling a pack of cigarettes form his pocket and sticking one in his mouth. "Gotta keep occupied somehow. Ever since they called off the last jump, it's been boring as hell round here."

"Well, 'cept for the nurses," Bill added, wiggling his eyebrows exaggeratedly.

"Speaking of nurses," Muck ventured, catching up to the group. "How about that one that nearly scalped ya the other day, Bill? What was her problem? She said somethin' about someone named 'Sam.' Now I know the good Doc over here knew what she was talkin' about, but you still haven't told us a damn thing. So spill. You get in trouble with that nurse's fella or something?" Muck wouldn't put it past Bill, but the argument the two of them had, had seemed very…strange.

"Oh…well," Bill hedged, sharing a look with Joe and Babe. The other two shrugged, not caring to get swept up into Bill's problem; they had said they wouldn't tell anyone, after all.

"Sam is a sergeant in the 42nd field hospital," Eugene piped up, and the men turned towards him with curious eyes. "When we met Sergeant Branigan, we was under the impression that…well, that the good sergeant was a man. Apparently, that ain't the case." He looked troubled, face scrunched up in thought as he drawled on. "I'm 'bout as surprised as can be."

"Wow, your excitement is palpable," Muck remarked sarcastically, and grinned when Eugene shot him a look. "So? What's it to us if she's a girl who dresses like a man?"

"Eh, well, I dunno, tuh be honest," Babe chimed in, and Gene's eyes flickered to the red-haired private. "She just seemed real t-eed off that we knew. Nearly jumped Bill here."

"Don't surprise me," Eugene remarked absently. "She an' I got in a scuffle when we was kids too. She was always pickin' fights. Didn't know she was a 'she' back then either, though. She was really scrawny."

"Wait, what?" Muck demanded, looking entirely too amused by the revelation. "You got in a fight with a girl, Doc?"

The medic recoiled slightly, looking offended. "Well, I didn't know she was a girl back then! It ain't my fault," he amended quickly. "And if it makes a difference, she beat me."

"Okay," Muck said with a wide grin. "I officially have to meet this girl."

"She was at the bar the other night, showed us all up playin' darts, remember?" Toye reminded, smacking Luz on the arm.

"No shit, huh? Never woulda guessed, what with those oversized ODs. Make her look more like a sack of flour than anything else. Where is she now?"

"I just saw her come into camp," Eugene supplied, motioning up the road where the jeep carrying Sam had disappeared to. "She was headin' to HQ. What do you think for, I wonder…?"

"Dunno," Bill quipped, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But we can sure find out."


	4. Wheel of the World

A/N: Thank you to _vintagecowgirl101_ and _rovingallday96_ for your reviews! I'm so glad you like it so far.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." -Edgar Allan Poe_

 **Chapter 4: Wheel of the World**

After saying goodbye to Lew and Sid, both of whom had given her big hugs (and laughed at the way she'd stiffened up on contact, before awkwardly hugging them back), Sam had said her goodbyes to her replacement trainees. After spending a few days with her and realizing that she knew her stuff and wasn't just some dead weight woman who would get people killed, they'd warmed up to her, and actually got along with her pretty well, despite her tendency to smack them from time to time.

Sam had finished saying her goodbyes (she refused to say that she teared up just a little) and hopped in the jeep to head back to Aldbourne, eager to get back to her own billet and get some good sleep. After her training with Sobel and the other medics, she was exhausted.

She now found herself standing in front of Captain Winters' desk, bag slung over her shoulder.

"It's good to have you back, sergeant."

Sam, no stranger to protocol, saluted Captain Winters sharply, a faint smile curling over her face. "It was an…interesting week, sir," she hedged, and Winters shot her a knowing look. Lewis, who was lounging in one of the chairs in the office (did he ever do anything useful?), was smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

"Oh? And how was our good Captain Sobel, eh? Still an overbearing prick in need of an attitude adjustment?"

Sam shot him a disapproving look, which was echoed by Dick's reprimand of: "Lew, you know better."

"I wouldn't say all that, sir. But it was tough," Sam agreed, giving the barest of nods. Lewis and Dick could see the strain around her eyes, and practically felt the fatigue rolling off of her in waves. They doubted she'd slept much in the last week, and they could tell she was itching to get out of the office so she could go and get a good night's rest.

"All right then, sergeant. Report back tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred hours, and we'll get you all settled in with your new assignment before we discuss specifics about your delegation to Easy. The men have already been briefed about you, so there shouldn't be any worries. They'll just need to get to know you." He shot Lew a look, and the intelligence officer raised his hand in a 'I'm completely innocent in that' gesture that Dick wasn't buying for a second. "You know, sergeant," Winters continued, sounding hesitant for once. It was enough to catch Sam's immediate attention, despite her fatigue.

"You don't have to accept this assignment. You can tell Sink that you'll decline and would rather remain with your own regiment. What you're about to do…well, there's no small measure of danger, no matter how safe we try to keep you. All of our medics are unarmed, and they are often the ones who spend the most time dodging bullets. Are you really up for that?" When Sam seemed confused, Dick placed his hands on his desk, leaning forward. There was no joke or jest or amusement in his eyes; just cold, hard truth. "What I am saying, sergeant, is…are you okay with the possibility of dying? Because it's a very real one if you accept your assignment with the 326th and attach yourself to our company."

Sam was taken aback by Dick's candidness. She honestly hadn't thought of it that way, not in those specific terms. Not in the 'I might die' way. She knew the battlefield would be a whole different story than what she was used to, but the thought of dying hadn't crossed her mind. She'd been too preoccupied on the idea of being some use to someone, too tired from her new training and the jumps to really think over what her assignment really entailed. Could she really do it? Sam thought about Sidney and Lew, their smiles and good natured ribbing; she would do her damndest to make them proud of her.

Hopefully.

"I…Well, sir, thank you for your concern." Even to her own ears, Sam sounded unsure. _Can I do this? When the bullets started flying, can I run into them?_ Taking a deep breath, she decided that there was no reason she couldn't try. "But I think I'll be okay. I-I mean…I know I'm not as prepared as I could be, but if something happens…At least I'll know that I tried. I think that's the most I can expect of myself…sir."

Winters watched her carefully, before he lowered his eyes, as if in defeat, and shook his head. "Sergeant, that's admirable, I suppose. But if you have any misgivings…You'll have a short opportunity to voice them. Let me know if you change your mind." His tone indicated that he would very much like her to change her mind, but Sam was becoming more and more determined to do this. She supposed it was the Irish in her; stubborn, proud, and always eager to fight the odds.

"Of course, sir. I'll let you know."

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As Sam stepped out of the company HQ, she slipped her wool hat back onto her head; it was small enough to fit her head snugly, the little bill shading her eyes, and kept her bouncing curls in check. She was getting due for a haircut soon, she decided, shouldering her bag as she stepped out of the building and onto the street.

Despite how comfortable she'd gotten with the veteran medics and Lew and Sidney, it did feel good to be back in familiar territory. And though Sam hated to admit it, but she really did have to go see Lizzie before she did anything else, no matter how exhausted she was. She'd left without a word, not even daring to write a letter to her friend to explain her absence. When Lewis had asked her if she wanted him to tell Lizzie anything on the night of her departure, she'd remained stubbornly silent. Now she was feeling just a bit childish, and she regretted leaving without at least clearing the air between them. Lizzie was probably worried that Sam hated her, knowing her, and Sam didn't want to leave her in a lurch like that.

Path determined, she started down the road and had only made it a few feet from the headquarters when a familiar group of soldiers up ahead caught her attention. They were laughing and joking easily with one another, and Sam silently cursed her luck. She did not want to run into Bill, Babe or Toye again, and the fact that they were surrounded by even more E company soldiers made her all the warier. Despite the fact that she'd soon be working very closely with them, she wanted to keep her distance as much as possible. Even the sight of the affable, and familiar Eugene did nothing to make her feel better about stumbling across them first thing upon her return.

She pulled her cap down lower on her forehead, eager to get past them and back to her quarters to talk to her friend and get some sleep. She was anticipating getting away quickly and easily; after all, blending in and being unobtrusive had become sort of her specialty. What she hadn't counted on was for the whole damn group to stop walking past her and start walking _with_ her.

"Shit," she breathed, trying very, very hard to ignore the men who were now walking in a bunch around her. But being in the midst of a mob was a difficult thing to try to pretend away.

"How ya doin', Sarge?" Bill questioned, the smirk crawling over his face making Sam's skin shiver.

"I was doin' good, Bill, until you guys came along," Sam responded truthfully, her pace quickening. The men kept up with her easily, and she tried to ignore the way Eugene wheedled to the front of the pack, walking just at her elbow. His curious gaze was unnerving.

"Aw, geeze, ya wound me!" Bill cried dramatically, and Sam rolled her eyes under her cap. "So, besides having a good day without us, whatcha been up to? Doc here said he saw you coming back into camp in a jeep. And none of us has seen ya round here lately."

There was a sudden jerk on her bag, and the weight was suddenly lifted from her shoulders. Sam snapped backward, looking surprised, before she whirled on the offender. A guilty looking Luz was smirking down at her, holding her bag over his shoulder. "Give it back," she demanded, eyes narrowing. Jesus, she was so damn tired. She didn't have time for their bullshit.

"Nah, not 'til ya tell us what ya been up to, Sam," Bill intoned with a cheeky grin.

"I've been fucking jumping out of planes, running through the mud, patching up dummies and training new medics, sergeant," Sam snapped, so suddenly that the men seemed taken aback, and actually paused for a moment. "And debating on whether or not I want to take my new assignment with the 326th because I don't know if I want to follow you guys around Europe and deal with this bullshit all the time." She paused, and added as an afterthought. "Respectfully."

"The 326th?" she heard Eugene ask quietly beside her, and she jumped at how close he sounded, turning to face him. He was, really, the only one she could take seriously in a circle full of grinning idiots. "What…what does that mean, Miss Branigan?"

"It means that I'm going to be working with you from- wait. What?"

"What?"

"Did you call me 'miss'?"

"Um…" Eugene's eyes darted to the side quickly, flashbacks of being pinned beneath a scrawny kid who punched like the devil running through his mind. "Sorry, I didn't mean tuh. Won't happen again. I swear!"

Sam's shoulders drooped, and she let her head hang for a second, her whole body debating on following so she could just lay on the ground and let the earth swallow her whole. First Sidney and Lew, and now Eugene and every-fucking-one else, apparently. Her gaze darted, accusingly, to Joe, Bill and Babe, all of whom had innocent expressions on their faces.

"Hey, we didn't say nothin'," Toye informed her, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Your nurse friend let it slip in front of some of the guys. They sorta just put two and two together."

Bill was muttering something about it being unfair that Sam wasn't attacking Gene like she had him, but she ignored him. "Geeze," she muttered, adjusting her cap self-consciously. "Fine, okay. Ya know. And now it's all there, out in the open. Hurray. Yippee. So can I have my bag back? I've got things to do." Everyone was bound to find out eventually; Winters had mentioned something about the men being briefed about her, right? Or had he?

"Wait though," Luz said, still holding the bag out of reach, even though Sam was grasping for it. "So you're with the 326th and you're coming with us? So does that mean you'll be like one of our medics? Like the Doc here?" He jerked his thumb at Eugene, who still looked faintly troubled. Sam tried to ignore the way the medic was gazing pensively at her.

"Yeah, something like that. Nixon said 'field nurse, medic or whatever the hell you wanna call it.' So I guess that means I am coming with you." Her expression was still sour, suddenly reconsidering her acceptance of the assignment. She could just tell Winters she was declining, and stay nice and safe and un-hassled here in England, with her supplies. "Since the 326th took a hit, they need people to fill boots and Sink wants to see if women can cut it in combat. So here I am. And lucky me, I get to go with _you_ guys. That's why I was gone; I was jumping out of planes at Chilton Foliat and helping train new medics for the 326th and other companies."

The men who had trained with Sobel all exchanged looks, grimaces written on their faces; they knew who was commanding officer at Foliat.

Sam huffed, eager to get going. "Look, I'm exhausted. I don't give a good god damn what you want to do with your day, as long as you leave me out of it. So can I have my bag back, now?"

"This-" Muck exclaimed, reaching forward to throw a companionable arm around Sam's shoulders (she was going to break the hand of the next person who did that, she swore up and down) "-is exactly what I imagined when Eugene told me you beat him up when you were a kid. Ya got spunk. I like that! So, should we start callin' you 'Doc' too? Or how about 'nurse'?"

Sam was about halfway to considering punching him in the gut and leaving, but decided against it. She was going to be spending the next who-knew-how-many months with these men; they were the ones with the guns. They would be responsible for her safety. She might as well try not to break something in one of them. At the very least.

"No way. How about I call _you_ 'nurse'?" she questioned in a growl, and Muck nearly fell over from the surprise, before recovering quick enough to burst into uncontrollable laughter. He used Sam to keep himself standing.

"I like you, Sammy, I sure as heck do!" he crowed, not seeing the exhaustion and stress that was coloring the fact of the young woman beside him. "It's a deal. You can call me 'nurse' _anytime_ you want."

Eugene, who was still watching carefully, pried Sam's bag from Luz, who didn't put up much of a fight to keep it. "All right, all right," he said good naturedly, waving his hands to shoo Muck away from the diminutive sergeant. "I think Sam needs some rest. If she really was at Chilton Foliat, then she could probably use a whole god damned weeks' worth of it." When Muck tried to protest, Eugene silenced him with a look. "I'll escort th' good sergeant back to quarters. The rest of you, clear off and go cause trouble elsewhere, ya hear?"

The men didn't seem too eager to comply, but with a stern glance from their medic, they slowly cleared off, ambling down the cobblestone street to their original destination: the bar. They waved as they went, calling back goodbyes and cheeky comments that Sam ignored in favor of putting her face in her hands. Eugene watched them go fondly, before he turned back to Sam, who was now staring at the ground.

"You okay, sarge?" he asked softly, and Sam's eyes lifted to meet his. He was taken aback by how tired she looked, and wondered if it was her week's training or the company of a group of unfamiliar men that was causing the strain he saw hidden in the depths of her blue eyes. Concern overwhelmed him; he could say that he might not have been so worried if she'd been another man in the company. He'd have done what he could to help, sure, but the worry he felt for her had multiplied tenfold for a few reasons.

The first and foremost was that she was a woman. If what she'd told them was true about her joining the 326th and Easy in the field, then he wasn't sure he really liked that news. People like Sam, no matter how tough, didn't need to be caught up in all that shit.

The second reason he was more concerned was because he found he genuinely liked her. She was a tough, scrappy thing, and even when they'd been kids, she'd had a reputation for being the best fighter in town. She'd never backed down, and never given up. He admired her for it, and he found that he really did like that about her.

The last reason was because she reminded him of home. As silly as it sounded, every little thing that reminded him of his home in the states felt precious to him, and there were very few things in England, or in Europe in general that reminded the Cajun of Louisiana. Sam was an unexpected breath of fresh and familiar air, and he wanted to keep her that way. He couldn't very well do that if she was dead.

"I'm okay, Eugene. Thanks," she replied tiredly, reaching out a hand for her bag. He stubbornly refused to give it to her, and saw her jaw set, and her eyes narrow as she glared up at him. "You can give that back now."

"Nuh-uh, sarge. I'm carryin' it for ya. You lead the way, and I'll follow. Sound good?"

It didn't sound like a suggestion to Sam, and her eyes narrowed further as she straightened up. "Eugene, you can call me Sam. I don't care either way. And I want to make something very clear right now; just because you know I'm a woman, doesn't mean you're going to start acting like-" She waved her hands, indicating what he was doing in a vague flapping gesture. "-this. So don't."

Eugene seemed taken aback, but didn't relinquish the bag. "If that's what you want," he agreed. "But I ain't doin' this 'cuz yer a woman. I'm carryin' it 'cuz it doesn't take a medic to see how tired you are. If you trained with Sobel, then I can 'magine you need a day or two or _three_ of straight sleep. I aim to see you get that. Now come on." He jerked his head, indicating that she should get walking.

Sam shoved her hands in her pockets as she complied, chancing a peek at him from beneath the brim of her little hat. "Fine," she mumbled, feeling a little silly. They walked in silence for a few moments, before the urge to speak got a hold of her. "So…it doesn't bother you that I'm a woman, then? I mean…" Here, she finally grinned, and Eugene could see a little of the person she might have been back home, before she became so closed off and secretive. "-it don't bother you that you got yer butt whooped by a girl?"

Eugene shared her grin, hiking the bag up higher on his shoulder. "Nah, all water under the bridge. Though I did tell the fellas, and I'm sure that's gonna come back and bite me at some time. But as fer you bein' a woman…Well, I don't see nothin' wrong with it. I don't really like the idea of you goin' with us when we make our next jump, but it's not my life or my decision. It's yours. And I respect that, Sam. It don't mean I won't try to _help_ you; it's really what I'm trained to do, after all." He gave the cross on his arm a meaningful glance. "But the way I figure, you wouldn't have accepted the transfer if ya didn't think you could handle it." He paused, as though considering. "Just promise me something."

Sam, surprised by his candidness and a little touched by his faith in her, gave a nod in the affirmative. "Yeah, Gene."

"Try not to get yerself killed."

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Eugene dropped Sam off at the quarters she shared with Lizzie, handing her bag back to her and asking her if she needed anything else. Part annoyed, and part touched by his concern, Sam had declined, and Eugene had waved goodbye, promising that he'd find her after she got her new assignment orders from Winters the next day (which confused Sam a bit; why would he want to come find her again?).

Exhausted, Sam had shuffled into the billeted house, dropped her bag on the floor, and almost didn't make it to her bed before she flopped down face first in it. Lizzie wasn't home (she would've definitely announced her presence with a squeal and a hug) so Sam would worry about making up later. Right now, all she wanted was some sleep.

It felt like it had been only a few minutes by the time the sound of the door to the house slamming shut woke Sam from a groggy sleep. She had managed to blearily drag her eyes open when she was suddenly pounced upon by a blur of white. With a grunt and a hiss of air, Lizzie landed on her stomach, nearly sending the two tumbling to the floor.

"Ugh, Lizzie!" Sam grouched, but made no move to push her friend away. She was surprised when, instead of giggling and laughing and squealing like she was wont to do in this sorts of situations, Lizzie instead wrapped her arms tightly around Sam's neck, squeezing and hugging her close. "Lizzie?"

"I'm so sorry, Sam!" the brunette cried, and it was then that Sam noticed the tears that were beginning to soak the collar of her shirt. "I didn't mean to say anything! You know how I get; sometimes I just don't think before I blurt things out! I know I betrayed your trust; can you ever forgive me?"

Sam awkwardly patted Lizzie's back, before prying her arms from around her neck. A half smile tugged its way onto her lips as she stared at the puffy red eyes and blotchy cheeks of her best friend. "Geeze, Lizzie. You should know better. Of course I forgive you. It's not a big deal, really."

"But-but you were so upset, and then you left and-"

"Lizzie, I left for training. I didn't have much of a choice. And I was upset because you told people things about me that were personal. I trust you; I don't want to have to question that trust." She reached up and poked her friend in the cheek, eliciting a tentative, watery smile.

"I promise I won't ever do anything like that again, Sam. Cross my heart."

Sam nodded, the smile finally managing to break through as she ruffled Lizzie's hair into an unruly mess, grabbing her around the neck and yanking her forward. Lizzie squeaked as she was squished against her friend, who flopped back down on the bed and dragged her along for the ride. "Now that we've got that settled," Sam yawned, eager to get back to sleep. "Let's hit the hay. I gotta report for orders tomorrow with my new regiment."

Sam didn't notice the hesitance on Lizzie's face or the concern in her eyes as she started drifting off to sleep. She had no idea that Lizzie was afraid that if Sam went into combat, they might never see one another again.

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The knock on the door that next morning was early and unexpected. It couldn't have been any later than eight in the morning. Sam blearily rubbed her eyes, noting that Lizzie had managed to sprawl across most of the bed and steal the covers while she was at it. Grumbling to herself, Sam managed to wobble from the bed, running into the wall before she was able to push off and head down the hall to the door. Unconcerned with her scruffy appearance, she yanked open the door just as another knock sounded to see a startled looking Eugene staring down at her.

"What?" she demanded, still tired and in no mood to be entertaining guests. Eugene cleared his throat, looking faintly embarrassed.

"Ah, Captain Winters sent me to getcha, Sam. There's gonna be a briefing about our next drop. It's pretty important. He says he's sorry to wake ya so early; he didn't know about this until last night." He made a vague motion to her body, before folding his arms behind his back. "I'll wait for ya, if you wanna change," he informed her. A faint grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Don't think sleep wear is 'propriate for meetings."

Sam glanced down at herself, realizing she was wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts and the white shirt she usually wore under her ODs. A brilliant scarlet blush shot up her neck, and she all but slammed the door in a chuckling Eugene's face as she rushed to go and change into her uniform.

As she marched back into the room and struggled into her clothes, she glanced over at Lizzie, careful not to wake her. Her friend was still sleeping soundly, even by the time Sam pulled on her boots and headed back to the door. She flung it open, grabbing her hat as she went, and stomped down the steps to meet the grinning medic who was waiting for her. "Shut up," she grouched, shoving her hat on her head and her hands into her pockets. "What are you smiling like that for?"

"If there was any doubt 'bout you bein' a girl, then I think you answering the door just now would have quickly expelled it," he quipped, falling into step behind her.

"Why you-!"

Eugene laughed loudly as he took off running down the street, Sam hot on his heels, but a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

When they reached the tent, Sam and Eugene just managed to find a seat on one of the benches in the back. Sam found herself squished between the medic and Skip Muck, who looked delighted to see her. She greeted him with a "How ya doin', nurse?" to which he responded with a wide grin, before they were forced to pay attention to the briefing being given by Winters and Nixon.

Sam was concerned about the fact that she had yet to meet most of the men; she wondered how they'd take to her. If they were anything like Lew and Sidney, then she'd probably be okay. But her replacements and their reactions gave her an idea that not everyone would be so accommodating or accepting. She'd just have to get on with it and let it roll off her back, for once. She couldn't very well pick a fight with anyone. She just wondered how she'd go about treating the men and being their medic if she didn't know who more than half of them were.

Sam forced herself to stop thinking about what-ifs, and start paying to Nixon's briefing. They were going to be jumping into Holland, under British command. The feeling of dread and anticipation hit Sam harder than she thought it would, and she curled in on herself, slouching over in her seat. She saw Eugene's head turn just slightly, casting her a confused glance out of the corner of his eyes, before he went back to listening to the officers.

"Say goodbye to England. I don't think they're calling this one off."

She'd be leaving.

She'd be leaving everything she'd come to know as familiar and dear. Her tiny cottage, the lovely people in the town, her job as a supply officer and _Lizzie_. She wasn't sure how she'd break the news of her division moving out to her best friend; Lizzie wasn't going to take it well.

But Sam had more pressing things on her mind; like her first jump into actual combat. In fact, her first _real_ jump in general. The others had been nothing more than practice. Now she'd be loaded down with all of her gear, jumping out of a plan with men she'd be following and serving with, into what could possibly be live fire and assuredly waiting enemy soldiers.

She felt sick to her stomach.

The rest of the men had started milling about as the briefing wound down, off to start packing their equipment and get ready for the jump in a few hours, but Sam stayed put, hand curled over her fluttering stomach. Most men ignored her, taking her for the new medic their officers had told them about in her week of absence during her training once they caught sight of the red cross on her arm. They figured she was just nervous.

"Sam?"

Sam glanced up into the concerned face of Eugene, before realizing that most of the others had moved off. A few, like Muck, Eugene, Malarkey, Babe and Luz had stayed behind, shooting her curious looks and eager to be on their way to get ready.

"I'm okay," Sam muttered, feeling foolish for being so nervous. "I'm fine." As if to prove her point, she stood up, nodding at Gene before starting for the edge of the tent. Both the medic and the small group fell into step with her, talking quietly amongst themselves about their coming jump.

"Way I see it, war will be over by Christmas," Luz was saying, strolling along beside Malarkey with his hands in his pockets. "'Bout fuckin' time, too."

Muck reached over, smacking Luz on the back of the head. He responded with a yelp, shooting the other man a glare. "'Ey, George. That's no way to talk in front of a lady. Isn't that right, Sam?"

Sam rolled her eyes. She was wondering when something like that was gonna come up. "I'm sorry your feminine sensibilities are being offended by George's mouth, nurse," she commented dryly, earning a round of laughter from Babe, Malarkey and Luz. "But that's between you an' George. I ain't got nothin' to do with it."

Sam managed a half smirk as Muck threw his arm over her shoulder in a companionable manner (she decided not to try and break his hand; he was growing on her, after all. Like overly-friendly mold). "Every time you open your mouth, I like ya more and more," he quipped, a grin breaking out over his features. "This is going to be way more fun than the first jump. I can feel it."

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"This is _not_ way more fun," Skip grouched dryly, glaring over Eugene's shoulder at the approaching jeep.

Sam was in the middle of trying to get all of her bags and equipment strapped to her and not fall over, because she was afraid she wouldn't be able to get back up. Eugene was doing his best to help her, having already quickly and efficiently gotten ready for their departure. Muck had wandered over only a few minutes before, using both Sam and Eugene as human shields to hide from Sobel, who had shown up on a jeep with Popeye Wynn.

After they'd left the briefing tent, Sam had been introduced to the NCOs (a few who's faces she knew already) and officers of Easy, as well as a few of the men she hadn't met before (Shifty, Hoobler, Cobb, Webster, Liebgott, Perconte, Smokey, Alley and a few others). She was surprised at how well they received her, though they didn't offer too much in the way of greetings beyond a few lazy 'how ya doin'?' or 'welcome aboard.' Those she met seemed unconcerned with her status as a female, and made no mention of it as she had expected them to. She was, frankly, surprised at that, but had filed it away under things to wonder about for later. She had other concerns at the moment. After the brief introductions, she'd gone to the field to get ready for the jump, having no time to head back to her billet.

Sam had been dreading telling Lizzie she was leaving; she knew there wouldn't be time. She had to get her equipment packed and there were medical supplies and other things she had to outfit herself with. It would take all the prep time she had just to get ready to jump. She would have no time to slip away to say goodbye to Lizzie. Sam should have known better, of course, than to think she wouldn't get a chance to say goodbye.

When her friend had gotten wind of what was going on, Lizzie had hoofed it to get to the air field, begging, borrowing and sweet-talking a ride out of someone (who happened to be Sobel, though Sam didn't know it at the time). She'd hopped off the jeep and immediately started prowling about for Sam until she found her. The female medic caught sight of her head of brunette hair, surprise shooting through her as she managed to lift a hand and wave over Eugene's shoulder, calling out to her. She watched Lizzie look around in confusion before she spotted Sam (and Eugene, who had raised his arm to get her attention) and immediately made a beeline for their spot.

As she reached Sam, Lizzie didn't stop, and plowed into her in a fierce hug that nearly had them sprawling backwards (and Sam almost panicked because she was sure she'd never get up again). As she pulled away, Sam could see tears gathering at the corner of Lizzie's eyes, and she shoved something into Sam's hands; it was a small bag, just small enough to fit over her other shoulder, opposite her medic satchel.

"Lizzie? What-?"

"Extra clothes. Clean ODs and stuff," Lizzie whispered, carefully securing the bag over Sam's shoulders and adding that much more to her jump. Still, it was a welcome weight to Sam. "You're gonna need them. When I heard you were leaving so soon…well, I never thought it would be that quick. But I packed this for you, and I think you'll thank me later." Lizzie winked, leaning forward to take her friend's hands. "Sam, please be careful. Don't do anything stupid. Promise me."

"Lizzie-"

"Promise me."

Sam quirked a small, sad smile. "Okay, Liz. I promise. I'll see ya when I get back, okay?" She reached forward and tapped Lizzie's nose, and she offered Sam a watery smile, clearly trying not to cry.

"Y-yeah. Take care, Sam."

She stepped away, and Sam watched her go, weaving through the men to say farewell to her brother. She watched her until she couldn't see her anymore, and then turned back around obediently for Eugene to continue adjusting and checking her equipment. Muck was standing beside her with a smirk, and she rolled her eyes towards him.

"Okay, I'll bite. Why is this _not_ more fun, nurse?" Sam asked, having now taken to calling Muck by his new nickname; he seemed to get a kick out of it, so she was happy to oblige. It kept him from calling _her_ 'nurse,' in any case and that was something she was glad for.

"Look over there."

Sam had a hard time turning her head with her gear on, nearly tumbling forward as Eugene gave a hard yank to her harness to be sure it was in place. She knew it was because she was so much smaller than what he was used to, so every sharp tug and twist nearly sent her sprawling backwards or forwards into him or someone else, and he had to adjust to be gentler than normal.

Once Sam managed to shimmy around and take a peek for herself, she mentally cringed as she finally got a look at the convoy Lizzie had hitched a ride on. The jeep that had pulled up held none other than Captain Sobel. She'd only been under his command for a week, and while she didn't hate him, he was far from her favorite person. He was tough, and he made her work, and she respected that. But he would have gotten a lot more respect if he was fair too; he was too petty to be an officer, if you asked her. "Ick," she managed, grimacing as Muck nodded emphatically.

"I know, right?!" he exclaimed, looking over the map in his hands.

Sam caught sight of Lizzie hopping into a jeep, waving as best she could as her friend drove out of sight and back down the air field. Her gaze then turned to Sobel, and she saw a head of red hair in front of the former Easy Company commander and turned to Muck with an accusatory glare. "So, wait…did you leave Malarkey by himself with Sobel?"

"Um…maybe."

"Coward."

"Damn straight."

Sam felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips as she looked up at Eugene, who had come to stand in front of her. An intense look of concentration was scrawled across his face as he checked and re-checked straps, buckles and supplies.

"Ya got your medical bag?"

"Check."

"Bandages? Plasma? Morphine? Sulfa?"

"Check times four."

"Scissors, bayonet, entrenching tool, rations, helmet-" Here, he rapped on her helmet with his knuckles, earning him a glare as he grinned. "-iodine, penicillin, dressing, plaster, safety pins, tourniquet?"

"Check, check, and yes, check. I _was_ a medical supply officer, you know."

"I know," Eugene replied, his smile fading to be replaced by a more serious expression. He reached forward and adjusted the white armband with the red cross on Sam's arm, his eyes fluttering back to her face. "I just want you tuh be prepared. You never know what you're gonna run into. And I want you to be safe. Don't do anythin' stupid, ya hear?"

"Stupid?" Muck chirped from beside her just as Malarkey jogged up, looking annoyed and Penkala wandered over to join their group. "She agreed to jump out of a perfectly good airplane with the bunch of us. I think she's already _way_ past that point."

Sam had to smile at that, though she was still having a hard time really managing to move with her chute and reserve and bags strapped to her, otherwise she might've punched his arm. She knew once she landed she could discard a lot of what was weighing her down, but she worried about actually being able to stand up once she hit the ground.

Seeing the hesitance on her face, Eugene leaned down a little, whispering quietly so only she could hear. "Don't worry, _cher_. I'll be there if you need any help. Nothing bad will happen to you."

Sam narrowed her eyes slightly at the nickname, not quite sure what it meant; she knew Eugene knew French, because he was half Cajun, but she'd never taken a single French class in school, and was not well versed in it, especially the intricacies and nuances of pet names. "You can't promise that, Gene," she muttered, feeling her nerves beginning to flutter back to life.

"I can try, eh?" he corrected, patting her helmet. "But I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Sure you will!" Muck interjected, sidling away from Malarkey, who had slugged him in the arm for abandoning him with their former captain. "You've got us looking out for you. So if you land over there and can't find the good Doc here, then just look for one of us."

"Yeah," Penkala interjected. "Muck will be the one with the big mouth, and Don over here will be your fellow red-head in combat."

"Gee, thanks," Sam replied, feeling her spirits lighten despite her tone. Maybe they weren't all that bad she'd have to learn to start trusting them soon enough anyway. She was going to be spending the next however many weeks or months with their group, after all. She glanced at Malarkey, a faint smile on her face. "Well, if anything, I assume I can count on a fellow Irishman to help me out?"

"Us crazy fools gotta stick together," Don fired back, his own smile teasing.

"Saints preserve us, she's actually gettin' along with people!" Muck crowed, and Sam elbowed him as hard as she could in the gut (which was his reserve chute) with a growl.

"Don't tempt fate, nurse."

"Sir, yes sir."


	5. Lessons Learned

A/N: Thank you again to _vintagecowgirl101_ and _rovingallday96_ for your reviews! Your words are very encouraging! Also, can anyone give me a heads up if the chapters come out all in italics? In my preview, that's what is happening, so I'm a little concerned that it's all in italics.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _She lived with hurricane eyes and fell in love with the way the waves collapsed against her cheeks."_ _-_ _Christopher Poindexter_

 **Chapter 5: Lessons Learned**

Jumping out of a plane with full a pack, with a bunch of men also in full gear, was a bit more of a struggle than Sam anticipated. She as bumped and jostled, squished between the men and their larger bulk. It felt much like a training jump, but with far more weight and gear strapped to her body.

When the call came to 'stand up' and 'hook up,' Sam managed to do so by the grace of God, stumbling back and forth into Eugene in front of her and Muck behind her as she checked Gene's straps. The numbers went down the line, and when Sam's turn came, she shouted "Five okay!" and patted Gene's shoulder. The light turned green a moment later, and everyone was shoving forward. It was still hard to move, to walk, or to even shuffle, but she somehow managed.

Luckily, once she was out the door (which she struggled to get to, and was thankful for Muck pushing her along from behind) gravity took care of the rest and she tumbled through the air before the jerk of her chute opening stopped her fall.

She managed to look up, catching sight of hundreds of other dark green chutes attached to men and equipment falling all around her, before her descent forced her eyes back to her feet and the rapidly approaching ground. Sam managed to brace just before the impact, tucking and rolling as she hit and her supplies sent her tumbling further than she might otherwise have. Her chute dragged her through the dirt, and it took her a few moments of panic induced struggling to get upright, before she pulled her bayonet from her hip and sliced through the cords, freeing herself.

She slapped the release on her chest, and once free from her harness, she dropped her reserve chute and took off, medic bag clutched to her hip. She was forced to dodge around falling troopers and falling equipment, her eyes scanning frantically for a familiar face until a hand reached out and grabbed her upper arm as she ran. She was nearly jerked backward as she came face to face with Eugene, who looked a little ruffled as he held his own bag close to his side.

"Let's go."

Sam nodded, allowing Eugene to lead the way as she struggled to keep up with his longer-legged strides. They followed the influx of men, and briefly, Sam wondered why no one was shooting at them. Hadn't they jumped into a combat zone? Wasn't that what was supposed to happen? Pushing aside her confusion, she followed Eugene as he led her to a ditch, already filling up with other Easy company soldiers.

She managed to stumble into the ditch beside the medic, breathing heavily as the adrenaline from the jump wore off. "Eugene," she whispered, not daring to raise her voice. "Is-is this normal? No one is shooting at us. Where is everyone?"

Gene was straining to see through the throng of soldiers in front of him, and knew that none of them seemed concerned over the lack of action. They were almost relaxed, unhassled even as the planes buzzed overhead, back to England. He turned back to Sam, a perplexed look on his face. "Not sure," he admitted, just as Hoobler and Cobb snuck by, crouching along the ditch with something in their arms. Sam ignored them as Eugene watched them go. "But I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Sam agreed, leaning back against the soft grass of the ditch and breathing heavily. She felt a hand land softly on her back, rubbing awkwardly soothing circles, and glanced over at Gene. "You okay? Did your drop go all right?" he asked, though he was still looking down the line of men, as if waiting for someone to give them orders.

"Fine, Gene," Sam admitted, though the thrill of the jump had worn off, and her jittery stomach and nervousness had come back full force. She wasn't about to tell him that though. Eugene opened his mouth to say something else, when the orders to move out came down the line.

The soldiers moved as one, jumping up from the ditch and starting out into the fields. Sam felt very exposed as she and Gene found themselves walking alongside Christiansen and his machine gun. She'd never met Christiansen, but he offered her a reassuring smile, though she could tell he didn't recognize her as anyone he knew personally. His eyes darted to the medic band on her arm, and he seemed to nod to himself, as if realizing who she was.

"You the new medic?" he asked quietly, facing forward as his eyes scanned the horizon all around them.

"Yeah," Sam replied, her voice still no more than a whisper. It felt wrong to talk any louder than that in such a quiet countryside. "I'm Sam. You are?" She figured she might as well get to know each of their names and faces. She didn't know who she'd be treating, and it was easier to calm someone down if you know their name; it provided a measure of stability and something to focus on when they were in pain.

"Pat Christiansen. Nice to meetcha." He slanted her a sideways look. "Sergeant Lipton says you're a girl. That true?"

Sam was surprised at the blasé way he said that, and jerked her head to look at him. He was still smiling amiably, no judgement written on his face. "Yeah," she replied hesitantly, clutching her bag tighter. "I am. So what? Is there a problem with that?" She couldn't help the defensiveness; it was her knee-jerk reaction when she was feeling uncomfortable.

"Nope, no problem, doc," Christiansen replied, shrugging one shoulder under his equipment. "As long as you do your job, same as the rest of us, I don't see a problem with it. Just be careful, okay?"

Sam couldn't help the shock and confusion that colored her face, and blinked rapidly. "Um, okay?" She hadn't expected such easy acceptance. But then again, he was only one person. Christiansen seemed to like her answer, and nodded, blue eyes brightening just slightly, before facing forward again.

Sam inched closer to Gene, giving Christiansen a wary look, as if not quite believing how friendly he'd been. The officers had briefed the men about her the night she'd gotten back from her training, but she'd had no idea they told them she was a girl. She thought only a few of them knew but she supposed the cat was out of the bag. Surprisingly, Sam felt a lot better about it than she thought she would. She didn't foresee anyone trying to shove her into a dress or heels while she was out in the field, so she supposed it was safe enough to be herself with them, if only for a time. Sam decided she would push the worry about her gender to the back of her mind; if they weren't concerned, then neither should she be. She had more important things to worry about, after all.

She tried to remember which officer Lipton was, and then recalled an older man with kind eyes and a fresh scar on his cheek. She filed his name away, along with Christianson's, hoping to remember them later, if she needed to use them again. She definitely would have to work on getting to know everyone better; things would start getting confusing if she didn't.

She glanced up just in time to see that they were approaching a town, their progress through the fields slowing. "Eindhoven," she heard Eugene mutter, just before a window banged open and sent most of the soldiers into a crouched position. Sam was only a fraction later as Eugene pulled her down next to him, already knowing exactly what to do in situations like these. "Easy," he whispered, eyes trained on the window.

Sam followed his gaze, watching as an older woman unfurled an orange flag-like sheet and tied it to the window. "What are they doing?" she asked softly as the men started moving again, picking their way over and around a fence and into the streets of the city.

"Don't know," Eugene answered honestly. "Maybe the Germans are gone, 'cuz no one is shootin' at us right now. And those people don't look hostile." He gave a nod of his head to the people who had begun to line the streets, waving French flags and orange flags and starting a loud, raucous celebration.

There was chanting and singing, their flags bouncing joyously. Some women waved flowers and they wore orange ribbons on their dresses or their arms. Sam stuck close to Eugene as they started into town, before she felt a hand grab onto the material of her jacket arm, and turned to see Muck, Malarkey, and Penkala. Muck was the one who had grabbed her arm, but his eyes were more on the crowd that was gathering around the moving Americans.

"Can you _believe_ this?" he cried excitedly, looking like a kid at a candy store. "I gotta say, this is _way_ better than Normandy."

"No one is shootin' at us, at least," Penkala remarked, and would have said more, had a woman not rushed up and kissed him on the lips.

"Uh, okay, now I officially love Holland," Malarkey quipped, getting assailed by women on all sides, eager to kiss and hug and excitedly dance.

Sam scowled, getting jostled by the women who rushed past her. A few even tried to kiss her, mistaking her for a man (an easy mistake), and she suffered the cheek kissing admirably. The moment the crowd started getting larger, however, her hand shot out and latched onto the strap of Eugene's bag.

Feeling the resistance as he tried to move forward, Gene turned just in time to see Sam's frantic eyes as she was nearly swallowed in a group hug from three women, all eager to welcome the American soldiers into their town. He hid a grin as he reached in and carefully pried the women off of her, ignoring, quite valiantly, the kisses on his own cheeks from other women gathered around them. "'Scuse me, ladies," he drawled, pulling Sam from the pack. She shot him a grateful look that was half mortified and half terrified, and he smothered his laughter for her sake. "You all right, Sam?" he asked, noting that Muck and the others hadn't been much help; they were too busy being assailed by women of their own.

"Fine," Sam responded, though Eugene noticed she sounded flustered. Her cheeks were smeared with lipstick, and he watched her wipe it away in annoyance with the sleeve of her uniform.

"Let's try and keep moving, huh?"

Gene reached out and grabbed her hand, not noticing the way Sam's eyes widened and then narrowed, a blush creeping up her neck as he tugged her along behind him. He could hear Malarkey, Muck and Penkala making their own path just behind her, loudly greeting women with enthusiastic kisses of their own. "Gene," he heard Sam mutter, and he strained to hear her over the noise. "What's going on? Is this normal?"

He could honestly say that he didn't think it was. Eindhoven had been under German occupation for some time, though, so maybe they were just glad the Germans were gone. Still, this seemed almost over-enthusiastic. They were acting like the war was already won. "I don't rightly know," Eugene admitted, blazing a path through the singing, celebrating masses. "Maybe they're just happy we're here. If I'd had to sit around and stare at a bunch of Germans as long as they have, I'd probably be celebratin' too. Come on." He turned to look over his shoulder, watching the small woman struggle to keep up and follow in his wake. "You sure you're all right?" he asked, quite frankly more amused than concerned about her predicament. He saw her flush a dark red, mumbling something under her breath as her hand tightened on his. "What was that, _cher_?"

"Shut up, Gene. Just keep moving," she grouched, ignoring his laughter as he headed the group, brought up by Muck, Penkala and Malarkey (who were slow going, to be honest and not trying too hard to keep up).

The distant shouts of lieutenant Peacock as he told his men to "Keep moving!" spurred them forward, and they made their way through the crowd, towards the edge of town.

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"So, first day treating you all right?"

Sam looked up from the foxhole she and Eugene had managed to dig at the softly spoken question from Skip Muck. The foxhole wasn't much; it was shallow, but just enough to cover them and sleep comfortably in. Many of the other men had dug their own foxholes to sleep in, though some sprawled about here and there in the haystacks.

"It was okay," Sam blurted quickly as Muck, Penkala, Malarkey and Luz traipsed towards them, settling down around the edge of the shallow foxhole. "And don't you guys have your own foxholes to go to? Get out of ours." She said it with enough humor for them to know she was only joking, and Muck scooted towards her, leaning on her shoulder. She tried to shrug him off, but he merely grinned, using her as a pillow. Even her scowl wasn't enough to deter him. On the other side of the hole, Eugene shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, this is pretty…not normal," Penk admitted, digging around in his pack. "Normally, we have people shooting at us. But today we get kisses instead. I really like Holland a hell of a lot better than France."

"I am with ya on that," Luz remarked, reaching over and swiping a chocolate bar from Penk's pack. "'Ey, Sam, ya want some?" He held out the candy, and Sam looked at it as if it was a live grenade. "Oh, come on. It ain't gonna bite. Just take some."

Tentatively, she reached forward, breaking off a chunk of the bar. George offered some to Gene, who also broke a piece off, his eyes a lot less wary than Sam's. He took a bite, as if to prove to her that it wasn't poison, and didn't look away until she had taken a bite of her own.

"Jesus, kid. You sure are jumpy around us, aren't you? Is it cuz I swiped yer pack when you came back from training? Or what?" Luz remarked, and Muck gave him a light kick with his boots. "I'm just sayin'."

"Aw, it's really cuz your big mouth scares everyone away," Muck quipped, getting far too comfortable using her as a pillow for Sam's liking. "Now, take me for example. I am the picture of innocent, boyish charms and good looks."

"Is that what that is?" Malarkey joked, winking at Sam. "And here I thought it was your bad sense of comedic timing that had the girls all flocking your way."

"That too."

Sam snorted, beginning to feel faintly at ease as she sat in the foxhole, chewing her Hershey bar and quietly listening to the banter of the men around her. She felt the dirt shift just beside her, and turned to see Eugene had moved places, settling down on the side not occupied by a lazy Muck. "Uh, hey," Sam greeted, not sure why he'd felt the need to move closer.

"Hey yo'self. Listen, you need to get some shut eye. I have a feelin' things won't be as easy tomorrow as they was today." He indicated Muck, who had glanced up at Eugene with a cheeky grin. "You want me to kick him off for ya? He's like a barnacle when he gets a mind to be."

"Hey, I resent that remark."

"You mean you _resemble_ it," Gene shot back, and the circle laughed quietly, before the soft-spoken medic fixed her with a look that told her he was serious. "I mean it. Get some sleep. And the rest of you head back to your foxholes. This one ain't big enough for all of you. Get some rest, go to sleep, read a book, whatever you wanna do. Doctor's orders."

With a lot of grumbling, and a shove from Sam when Muck tried to give her a hug goodnight, the men finally cleared out, ambling back to their foxholes in the dark. Sam shifted, sliding down into the comfort of the dirt, her bag behind her as a pillow as Eugene slid into the hole beside her. "'Doctor's orders,' huh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in the dark, though she knew he couldn't see. "I'll have to remember that one."

Gene tapped the cross on his arm. "Does have its perks. Now get some shut-eye. You're gonna need it." He nudged her with his shoulder. "Don't worry Sam. I'll keep an eye and an' ear out. It'll be fine." Sam nodded silently, pushing the thought of tomorrow from her mind.

Right now, she just needed some sleep.

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The next morning, Eugene led Sam through the ditches towards Nuenen, careful to keep off the road. They traipsed along behind some of the other men of Easy who elected to walk in the ditch, while many men strolled in the fields or on the road, or even rode along on the tanks. He wasn't a fool, and when Sam had asked why they weren't riding the tanks or walking on the road, he had smiled and shrugged. "Easiest way to get killed," he admitted, ignoring the surprise on her face. "Cover can be the only thing between you and gettin' shot. Why tempt fate?" She was going to have to start thinking smarter, especially when in combat.

Gene couldn't say that he wasn't worried. He felt like yesterday was the calm before the storm, and today felt like it was poised on the edge of a knife, ready to tumble over into a nightmare at the drop of a hat. He knew that something bad could happen at any moment, and when the shit hit the fan, he at least wanted her in sight, or, if not in sight, then he wanted her to think like a soldier and not a frightened girl. Whatever he could do to improve her odds, he aimed to do it. Eugene couldn't stop her from being here, but he could do what he could to keep her safe.

Gene could hear the soldiers joking and laughing with one another up ahead; the tanks rattled on, further up than he was, and he knew there was one or two replacement medics between himself, Sam and the front of the line. He wondered how well they'd been trained, wondered how well they'd fair in combat.

And then he got his answer in the sound of a gunshot and the cries of the men.

"MEDIC UP FRONT!"

The sound of Bull Randleman's deep bellow made Eugene jump, muscles already working to get himself forward, when he felt a strong hand latch itself onto his arm. "Gene!" someone shouted in his ear, and he turned to see Sam's wide eyes gazing up at him. "They got it, Gene! We have to stay low, keep moving!"

Despite the instinct to answer the call, Eugene could already see that one of the medics had responded to Bull's shout, and he jerked a faint nod in Sam's direction. "Right! Stay low!" He grabbed her arm, running at a crouch through the ditch behind the rest of the company. He could hear the sound of machine guns up ahead as the tanks rolled along the road, eager to be put to use. It was almost laughably silent for a moment, and Eugene dropped to the ground, feeling Sam do the same just behind him, her breathing loud and ragged in his ear.

He glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of her wide, blue eyes. She was scared, that much he knew. He wanted to tell her it would be all right, but he didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep. "Just stick close, okay?" he managed at last, just before there seemed to be an explosion of sound around them.

Bullets flew by, whizzing through the dirt, pinging off the metal of the tanks or helmets angled just right. Everything seemed to fade away and Gene was no longer primarily concerned about Sam; his main focus was now the men, those who were hit by the flying bullets, lying where they had fallen. His body was up and moving before he gave it a second thought, senses tuned to the battle around him as he ran. Mortars exploded, men were screaming, and he could see the dirt and debris flying into the air all around him.

He knew that peaceful façade wouldn't last long, and now, here he was, dodging debris, trying to make his way through the streets of a small town in Holland, searching for the dead and dying.

It was only when he slammed against a wall, back pressed tightly to the bricks, that he realized he was alone. His heart stuttered in his chest as his eyes searched frantically for Sam, but he didn't have the time to look for her. Not now. His attention was diverted by Lieutenant Peacock and Hoobler beside him, pressed to the self-same wall, talking about someone being wounded but still alive. His training kicked in, and Sam was pushed to the back of his mind.

"Who's hurt?!"

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How she managed to get separated from Eugene was a mystery to her; he was there one moment, and when she turned around, he was gone. Panic lanced through her, and she stood frozen to the stop in indecision. Where had Gene gone? Where should she go? Should she follow him? What if she needed his help? Despite the questions flooding her mind, Sam knew that she didn't have a moment to think about it. Her only concern was not getting shot, and her second concern were the men who were.

She could feel her heart pounding in her ears, her breath coming in short and ragged gasps as she forced her legs to propel her forward and not to the back of the line. She knew what she'd signed up for, but still…being out here, with the screams and the cries and the bullets and the explosions. It was a whole other world, and it wasn't one she was sure she should be in. Regret and fear nearly blinded her in her panic, but she managed to get her legs moving through an immense force of will.

Her mouth felt as dry as cotton as she skidded over the edge of the ditch, trying to scrabble along and out of it. Once she did, she almost leapt back in.

All around her, men were running forward, scattered, confused despite their orders, and just trying to stay alive. To her right, a mortar exploded, sending dirt and debris and gravel raining down on her. Instinctively, Sam threw her arms up, feeling the concussion of the blast send her boots skidding along in the dirt. Her eyes widened, heart hammering so hard she was sure it would jump out of her chest and run to the rear without her. She didn't know where to start, what to do. The hospital wasn't like this; it was all order and charts and knowing what was next. This was blood and panic and confusion and she had no idea where she was needed most. Even Lew and Sidney, who had told her stories about their time in Normandy, couldn't have prepared her for what battle was really like.

That was when she saw it.

The tank was on fire, probably destroyed by a German shell, and was rolling, ever so steadily, towards a ditch. Sam could just make out a man in the ditch from where she stood along the road, the top of his head as he frantically crawled along. Something inside of her faltered briefly, her feet turning to run away. But another part of her urged me to move, to do something, to stop standing there like a god damn _idiot_ and do her fucking _job_!

That last part screamed at her, louder and louder until she swore under her breath and took off, one hand on her helmet and the other on her bag as she sprinted towards the tank and the soldier in the ditch. Maybe she could get to him, drag him away from it. He was probably injured, unable to stand and-

Sam felt something hot and searing rip through her upper arm, and it nearly made her lose her momentum as she cried out, stumbling the last few steps in front of the ditch. The pain was unlike anything she'd ever felt, and she had never been a stranger to pain. It burned and stung like a hot iron, and she could feel the blood already oozing quickly from the wound.

But still, despite the pain, Sam kept going, running blindly toward the solider in the ditch, concerned only for him. The tank was rolling forward, a burning mass of twisted metal that steamrolled everything in its path. She managed to turn just in time to see it heading towards her, knocking into a power pole and sending sparks showering around her.

Sam's arms moved of their own accord, thrown up above her head to shield herself, and the burning pain in her arm was almost enough to send them back down again. She stepped backwards to escape the shower of sparks, and suddenly found herself falling into the ditch as her boot met nothing but air. She didn't think it was that far, but when she landed, hard, on top of a wriggling, cursing soldier, the stars behind her eyes said otherwise.

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Eugene hopped into the back of the truck, instructing Malarkey, Muck and Bill to help Buck onto the back from the door they'd dragged him in on.

"Put him there," he pointed to the floor, already reaching for more bandages. There wasn't much he could do for Buck, but he could at least get him bandaged up. He patted the lieutenant's boot, before looking up and over him, meeting Muck, Malarkey and Bill's eyes. "Hey, any of you seen Sam? She was right behind me when we headed into town, but I musta lost her. I ain't seen her since then."

Malarkey and Muck exchanged a look, while Bill cursed. "No," Malarkey began haltingly. "We thought she was sticking close to you, doc. None of us have seen her since the fighting started."

"Fuck, you mean she's still out there?!" Muck exclaimed, looking over the back of the other trucks to see if a familiar face was peeking out at him. "Sam?!" His eyes scanned frantically, hands clenched on his rifle. Muck called for her only once more, and when no answer came, he turned, as if to march back to the town to find her. Bill grabbed his shoulder, yanking him backwards before he could take more than half a step.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he demanded, just as Captain Winters, Lipton and Nixon scrambled to the trucks. "You can't go back out there! We're pulling out. What are you gonna do? You can't do anything to help her now!"

"What's going on?" Winters demanded, noticing that Eugene was trying to clamber over an injured Buck, face and jaw set in a look of determination. "Doc?"

"Sergeant Branigan is still out there, sir," Gene replied, managing to get over Compton and to the edge of the truck bed. He was just about to jump down, hands clenched tight on the strap of his medic bag. "We need to go get her."

"Bull is out there too. They're both missing," Lipton said quietly, and from the look on Dick's face, it was clear that hit him hard. He knew it; this was his biggest fear. If Sam died, it would be a blemish on his soul that he could never remove. And to lose Bull Randleman would be an incredibly hard blow; he was one of the best soldiers Winters had ever known.

The captain shook his head, indicating that the men should get into the trucks. The action looked as though it cost him great effort. "We can't go back there, not right now. We have to get out of here before we lose any more men." He locked eyes with Eugene, concerned with the hardness and anger he saw there. The medic looked like he was about to argue, but Winters cut him off before he could begin. "Eugene. We just can't risk it. We'll come back; we'll look for them. But we can't right now. Load up, and let's move out."

Muck, Malarkey, Eugene and Bill all shared a look before the three men who weren't already in the truck pulled themselves up and in, reluctant to follow orders for the first time in their military lives. Eugene sat back heavily against Buck's legs, and felt the lieutenant reach up and clap him on the shoulder, feeling somewhat impressed that the man was trying to comfort him, despite the obvious pain Compton was in.

"We'll get them back, doc. Don't you worry. Bull is a fighter, and I'm sure he'll find Sam and look after her."

Gene didn't respond as the trucks rumbled to life and rolled away from the town.

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The first thing Sam registered when she woke was that it was dark. The second thing she registered was that she was no longer outside.

"What the heck happened…?" she muttered softly, trying to sit up and look around. The second she moved, however, her arm burned with pain and she hissed out a long breath, turning her head to get a look at what it was. A bloody bandage looked like it had been hastily wrapped around her upper bicep, and she tentatively reached for it, peeling it away to reveal the ripped uniform beneath and the large, bloody gash through the skin. Her fingers probed a little, despite the pain, and she determined that it wasn't too deep, just really fucking painful. She replaced the bandage, awkwardly trying to tie it tighter to stop the slow ooze of blood she noticed had started up again when she'd pulled it away.

Now satisfied that the pain in her arm wasn't anything she had to worry about too much, she focused on her surroundings, and finding out where she was. "Where-" She opened her mouth, only to have a large hand clamp over it. Panic lanced through her, and she thrashed frantically, ignoring the burning in her arm as she tried to turn and get her assailant off of her. She knew how to fight, but all of that flew out of her mind and out the window the second she'd started to panic.

"Damn it, Sam, knock it off!"

The quiet reprimand stilled her, and she panted hard against the hand that held her mouth closed, twisting to look over her shoulder to see a vaguely familiar face. It was Bull Randleman, the sergeant who had been in charge of some of the new replacements. She remembered meeting him briefly at the bar the night Bill, Babe and Toye confronted her. His wary eyes regarded her in the dark, and she offered him a nod to show she understood, and she would be quiet. The hand lifted from her mouth, and Bull sat back on his heels with a hiss.

"Glad you're awake. You damn near knocked us both out when you landed on me. The hell were you thinkin', sweetheart? You coulda been killed."

"So could you," she quipped softly. "I didn't even know that was you crawling from the tank. I just…"

Sam trailed off, feeling unsure. Bull cocked a half smile her way, cigar sitting between his lips. "You just wanted to do some good. I get it. But the fact of the matter is-" He gestured vaguely to the barn they were in, and her eyes darted around the darkened lofts fearfully; every shadow seemed to jump and leap out at them. "-we're stuck here 'til we can find a way back to our comp'ny. And I don't think that'll be any time soon."

Sam opened her mouth to reply, feeling dread creeping into her bones, when the sound of the barn door being opened startled the two of them into silence. Bull pushed her into one of the stalls as quick as he could, and she bit her lip to keep the yelp of pain from escaping. Scrabbling to get out of sight as swiftly and quietly as possible, she peeked through the slats of the stall to see Bull slam into the man who came in, pushing him up against the wall with a knife to his neck. Same fought the urge to tell him to stop, that it wasn't right, but she had no say in this matter, and she sure as hell wasn't going to give away her position.

The sound of soft footsteps drew her attention to the open door, where a wide-eyed young girl stood. She was probably the farmer's daughter and she looked about as scared as Sam felt. After a few tense moments, Bull finally seemed to relax, letting the man go and moving back to where he'd pushed Sam, settling heavily against the stall. The man and the girl seemed hesitant, as if not sure what to do.

When Bull settled in front of her, Sam leaned forward, about to ask him what they would do next, when she caught sight of the faint sheen of blood in the pale moonlight filtering through the barn. He was injured; that was what that hiss was about earlier when he'd sat back on his heels. That _had_ to be hurting him. "Bull," she whispered, reaching up to tentatively touch it. "What-?"

"Piece of the tank. Can you get it out, doc?"

Sam nodded quickly, glad to be focused on something other than their predicament. This was familiar. This she could handle. She ignored the man and the girl in favor of concentrating on Bull's wound. She tore his jacket to get a better look at it; the metal hadn't gone too deep, but it was sticking out of the skin where it had been embedded from the force of the explosion. Reaching in, her fingers scrabbled at the piece of shrapnel, large and slippery with blood. She couldn't pull it out with her fingers and tweezers wouldn't be much use in this situation either. At Bull's grunt of pain, she reached down decidedly, pulling her bayonet from her boot. "Okay, Bull, just hold on. This may hurt a bit, but I _gotta_ get it out." Grimacing, she flipped the bayonet over, and the knife tip dipped into the wound. She pointedly ignored Bull's quiet grunts of discomfort as she dug out the piece of metal.

Holding it up to the light, Sam flicked the tank piece away, ignoring the man and the girl who settled just beside her. She didn't know why they were still here, but their presence made things seem less frightening to her. The man held out a flask of something over her shoulder, and she swallowed her surprise as she took it, taking a sniff before nodding and pouring just a little on Bull's wound. She passed it quickly back to the man, who took a swig, before Sam started digging about in her pack. Her bloody fingers fumbled with the material, and she silently cursed at the fact that she could hardly see where her bandages were before a pale cloth was thrust in front of her face. Confused, she glanced up at the man again, who was holding out the cloth. After a few tense moments of staring, she finally reached out and took it gratefully.

Sam stuffed the wound with the cloth, eager to get any bleeding to stop before dressing it properly, and looked back down to her bag, digging around again for the bandages and sulfa, when there was the distinct sound of men outside. Bull reached back and stilled her movements, body tense as he leapt up and ran to the window. Sam froze, eyes wide as she stared at his back, not daring to ask what was happening.

She felt an arm reach around her, and was surprised that the man behind her had pulled her to sit beside him, holding both herself and his daughter close. It provided a measure of security Sam hadn't known she needed, and though she had no idea who these people were, they made her feel safer than before. If they could just stay quiet, she surmised, then maybe whoever was out there would go. She watched Bull scurry away from the window to hide behind one of the stalls, and managed to catch a glimpse of the cloth she'd put on his back falling to the ground.

Right in the middle of the doorway.

Sam mentally cursed, but her mind went totally silent as men in German uniforms barged into the barn, making too much noise to indicate they were aware of the presence of the two Americans or the Dutch farmer and his daughter. The Germans dawdled for a few minutes that, to Sam, and she was sure to Bull, felt like a few hours. Eventually, they cleared off.

All but one.

Sam closed my eyes tight, willing him to hurry up and get the hell out of the barn. The droning, buzzing of planes overhead filled the silence, soundings like the herald of death itself as they overcame her senses. Her heart was thudding in my ears, the breathing of the man and girl beside her louder than the planes to her overwhelmed mind. She put her hands over her ears, gritting her teeth as she sat back, praying that the German would leave. She didn't open her eyes, even when she heard the German boots stop and scuffle in the dirt. He'd found the cloth; she knew it. It was all her fault that he knew we were there.

Sam kept her eyes shut, even when the German called out, demanding for whomever was in the barn to show themselves.

It was only when the sound of metal striking metal, the grunts of two men fighting, filled the air, just quiet enough to be drowned out by the planes overhead, that she finally opened her eyes. She watched as Bull bested the German in a bayonet fight, slammed him to the ground, and drove the bayonet into him, over and over again.

Sam watched as Bull quietly lifted his regret-filled gaze to her, face covered in the blood of his enemy, and her heart pounded loudly in my ears as she realized the German wasn't moving anymore. She watched, quietly, fearfully, and she didn't dare close her eyes again.

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The night had been tense and dark, and one of the most frightful experiences she'd ever had.

Bull had quietly settled beside Sam after he'd killed the German and hid his body. He'd chased the farmer and his daughter away from the barn, and while she knew it was for their own good, she still didn't want them to go. They made things seem less terrifying. But Bull was there, and she'd sat next to him, cuddled against his side as they both watched the door, wide-eyed and unable and unwilling to sleep through the night. Sam had hesitantly offered to wipe the blood from his face, and he'd gratefully allowed her to do so, too tired to protest the treatment as she cleaned him off with trembling hands.

She'd bandaged his shoulder up as best as she could, but her nerves were so shot, that her fingers just wouldn't stop shaking, and Bull had finally placed his hands over hers to get Sam to stop trying to help him. He'd given her a quiet look, and she had nodded, settling down for the night as she willed her body to stay still.

When the morning came, the two Americans tentatively stepped out of the barn, checking to be sure the coast was clear before they started out for our company. Neither said a word as they walked through the town, but Bull paused at a ditch where a body lay, kneeling down and quietly taking the tags. Sam recognized the man's face, but couldn't remember his name, and something about that made her heart ache. She was one of their medics, no matter how new; she was _supposed_ to know their names.

Sam stayed silent as Bull stood, putting the tags in his pocket and motioning for her to follow along behind him. The town was practically destroyed, bodies of dead Germans and only a couple Americans scattered here and there. She tried very hard not to look at them, but after last night, she wasn't as bothered as she thought she'd be. Still, she kept her eyes carefully averted every time she passed a body.

Beside her, Bull was quiet, the two of them walking along the road without saying a word. It didn't take long before he finally broke the silence between them. "You okay, Sam?" he asked in a slow, comforting drawl.

Sam nodded mutely, not really trusting herself to speak.

"It'll be fine, darlin'. We'll get back soon enough." He motioned to her arm, the blood soaked bandage. "We'll get ya looked at. Doc will patch you up."

Sam's gut twisted painfully at the mention of Eugene. She wondered if he thought she was dead. How would that feel? She _thought_ she had no idea, until another thought crossed her mind: what if Eugene had been hurt or even killed and _she_ didn't know it? They'd been separated, and she had no idea what happened to him. She hoped he was all right. If something had happened…

Bull saw the look on Sam's face and he placed a comforting arm over her shoulder. She didn't shrug him off, and he couldn't say he was surprised when she leaned into him a little to gain what comfort she could.

Both he and Sam glanced up quickly when they heard the sound of a jeep on the road, Sam's muscles tensing as she prepared to jump into the ditch. But even from such a large distance, both soldiers could see that it was an American jeep. Bull lifted his arm, rifle held horizontally to flag them down. The machine gunner pointed his gun at them, before he relaxed as he recognized their uniforms. The jeep pulled down the road, off to the side, just in front of them. The man driving smiled, but both men seemed surprised to see them.

"We're lookin' for Easy Company," Bull intoned, and Sam nodded in agreement, helmet bouncing on her head. "Can you take us to them?"

"Sure," the man replied, his gaze darting to the town. "Hop in. We'll getcha back."

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	6. I Just Can

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I love hearing from people. Please let me know how I can make this better. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _Morning without you is a dwindled dawn." -Emily Dickinson_ _  
_

 **Chapter 6: I Just Can't Live a Lie**

It felt like one of the longest nights of Eugene's life.

He spent a majority of it at a makeshift aid station, trying to help the men who were wounded during the day. But despite that, he still couldn't manage to get his mind off of Sam. He had no idea what had happened to her; was she dead? Was she lost? Was she wounded? And if she was wounded, was she safe? Was she sitting there, waiting for some German to come along and pick her off? Eugene couldn't imagine how terrified she must be, so he tried not to.

He did everything he could think of to keep himself and his mind busy, even volunteering to hand out food to some of the men. His satchel was filled with bread instead of bandages now, and he scurried from foxhole to foxhole, doling out what they had scrounged. As Gene reached Muck, Malarkey and Penkala's foxhole, though, he paused at the looks on their faces. They looked the way he felt: hopeless and angry.

"Penkala, Malarkey," he called, reaching into his bag and handing them each a small loaf of bread. "Eat up. You too Muck." Gene watched him tentatively reach for the bread, face scrunched up in thought. He was sure knew who was on his mind. "Don't worry," Gene continued, hesitating for only a beat. "They'll be okay." Even as he said it, though, it didn't sound convincing. He couldn't even convince himself.

"Yeah, doc," Muck replied, taking a bite of his bread. "Bull will find her and look after her. I'm not worried."

His assurance sounded hollow, and Gene knew Muck didn't believe himself any more than he did. Gene nodded once, before he continued on his way, eager to keep busy and not think about Sam or Sergeant Randleman's predicament.

The next foxhole he stopped at was the last, and it belonged to sergeants Guarnere and Toye, who had dug their foxhole only a few feet from his. Heffron had volunteered to help Gene, and the two of them were sharing a hole; the medic admitted that Babe had been a lot of help, and he tried not to think about the fact that it should have been Sam helping him dig, rather than the red-headed soldier from Philly.

"Hey doc," Bill greeted as Gene stopped by their hole, digging around in his bag for the last of the bread before heading back to his own.

"Sergeant Guarnere."

"Doc, just so ya know…couple of the boys went out lookin' for Bull and Sam."

Gene's hands stilled, breath catching in his throat as he looked up. Toye and Guarnere were watching him carefully, and just beyond that, he saw Heffron lift his head to level him with a steady look. Gene hardly trusted himself to speak. "You…sure?"

"Yeah," Toye confirmed, nodding his head as he dug around in his pocket for his cigarettes. "Hoobler, Webster and a couple of others went out lookin' for them. Said they were gonna bring them back, one way or another. They'll find 'em." He reached out to take the bread Gene offered, a hint of a smile on his usually stoic face.

"Good, good," he replied distractedly, wondering what the men would find when they went back to that town, or if they'd have even more casualties along the way when or if they got caught. Gene tried very hard not to think about the 'one way or another' part of their mission. "Get some rest, fellas. It's gonna be a long night."

He stood from his crouch, heading back to his foxhole and handing Edward the last bit of bread. He watched him eat, eyes open but not really seeing as he slipped down into the dirt, knowing he wouldn't be getting any sleep for the second night in a row. Only whereas last night he'd stayed up to watch over Sam, tonight, he was staying up to pray for her.

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The next morning, Eugene blinked his eyes blearily, staring at the edge of an empty foxhole. Heffron was already up, milling about with Guarnere and Toye as they rounded up men and equipment to get ready to move out. The company couldn't stay where they were with the chance of the Germans catching them off guard, so they were pulling back even further. Gene had heard mutterings about the entire operation going to hell, and he wondered how long they'd be stuck in Holland.

He hadn't rested much, only getting snatches of sleep in the night when his head had lolled too far forward and his eyes felt too heavy to keep open. But every time they closed, visions of red hair soaked and matted with blood kept flashing across his mind's eye, and he jerked himself awake every time. The small recovery patrol still hadn't returned, and Gene wondered if they ever would, or if they'd be recovering even more bodies later in the day.

His bones felt stiff as he stood and stretched, cracking his neck and back to get the aches and pain out of them. Sleeping in a foxhole wasn't good lumbar support, he decided, before a commotion near the edge of the company drew his attention. A jeep, loaded down with familiar faces, had just pulled into the camp. Gene's eyes immediately zeroed in on Bull Randleman, and his feet were starting into a jog before his mind had even caught up with what he was seeing.

Gene reached the jeep, just as Bull stepped out, greeted by half the company. His breath caught in his throat, and he almost didn't dare to hope, before he saw Hoobler helping a much smaller person hop out of the back. All the worry and the fear and the what-ifs that had filled him the night before seemed to fly out the window as he saw Sam's face again. She was filthy, peppered with little specks of blood and covered in dirt, but she was alive and otherwise whole, and for that, he silently thanked God.

Gene wanted to sweep her into his arms in relief but then he wondered where that urge had come from. He tried to tell himself that he had been worried because she could have been hurt badly or killed, and the thought of her dying made his stomach tie itself into knots. But the truth was, she had become something familiar, something special, something that reminded him of home. Since she'd unceremoniously popped back up into his life, no longer a skinny little slip of a child who gave him a bloody lip in a childhood fight, she'd sort of wormed her way into his thoughts. The past few days hadn't helped much either, and he found that she was constantly on his mind.

Now, here she was, alive and well, and the part of him that admitted that he cared about her—maybe as more than friends—was ecstatic. The other part of him, the more rational side that said they were only two soldiers, medics, friends and nothing more, was louder, and it was all that kept him from pulling her into his arms for a fierce hug.

Gene's fingers twitched as he suppressed the urge to step forward, teeth grinding together to keep himself from saying something stupid. He watched her blue eyes, watched them turn and look and land on him, and he watched a smile curl over her face as they widened with recognition and relief.

She was beautiful.

The thought was there and gone before he could analyze it, but he decided then and there that he would keep those feelings and opinions to himself. They were dangerous; she was a friend and a medic, nothing more. If he thought of her as anything else, he could get the two of them in a whole heap of trouble.

Sam opened her mouth to say something, and his body moved without his consent, pushing himself forward, before they were both stopped by another body propelling itself into her as Muck pushed through and enveloped her in a hug. Gene closed his mouth with a snap and quickly turned away, forcing himself to focus on something else.

His eyes landed on Bull, and he reached out to pat the sergeant's shoulder in greeting, noticing the way he stiffened slightly with keen, well-trained eyes. It was good to see that he'd made it back to the company in one piece. "Good to have you back, sergeant. You okay?"

Bull leaned forward, showing Gene the wound on his back, and his worries about Sam fell away as he snapped back into medic-mode. "Let's get that shoulder looked at."

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Sam was so happy to be back. As much as she felt the need to distance herself from people, these men were a sense of familiarity and comfort that she desperately needed. And after the night she'd had, she would admit that she felt like she could trust them just a little more. Especially Bull Randleman. His sense of calm and assuredness had gotten them both through a horrible experience, and without him, Sam had to admit that she'd probably be dead.

And thank God for Hoobler, Webster, Cobb, Hashey and Garcia. Neither Bull nor Sam had expected to see them when they had stood up in the swaying grasses on the dike, but both had felt immediate and overwhelming relief. And they had seemed genuinely happy to see both of their missing comrades, despite not knowing Sam as well as they knew Bull. She had found herself squished into the back of the jeep between Hoobler and Webster, sandwiched between two men she didn't know all that well and feeling, for the first time since she'd jumped out of a plane, safe and comfortable. Webster and Hoobler had both seemed to sense how exhausted she was, and didn't complain when she had tentatively used them for pillows, resting her eyes as the jeep bounced along.

When they made it back, the returning soldiers were instantly assailed by the men of Easy, all of whom welcomed them back with open arms. It was surprising to Sam that they seemed genuinely glad to see her, even though she couldn't match most of their names and faces to one another. Hoobler kindly helped her out of the back of the jeep and she managed a shaky, grateful smile before her eyes immediately started looking for Eugene's familiar face. She had to know if he was okay.

When she finally caught sight of him, it felt like all the tension and stress that was coiled tight inside of her finally released, and Sam let out a soft sigh of relief. She and Eugene locked eyes, and she was so happy to see him again, that she smiled. It was a genuine smile, one that reached all the way to her eyes, one meant to convey to him how happy she was to be back and to see he was safe. She opened her mouth, eager to tell him what had happened, when she was suddenly steamrolled by a body colliding into hers.

Sam yelped, grunting slightly in pain and annoyance before she immediately realized who it was that had slammed into her. "Nurse?" she asked hesitantly, not having expected such an over exuberant display of affection from Muck upon her return. Malarkey and Penkala were hot on his heels. Penkala reached out and patted her shoulder, and Malarkey wrapped an arm awkwardly around her, giving her a squeeze. They were both smiling as widely as Muck was, and Sam raised a brow at said soldier, since he hadn't yet released her. "Um, you can let go now."

"I'm not so sure," he quipped, but did as he was asked, even if he did so reluctantly. He seemed almost afraid she might disappear on him again. "I don't think we should let you out of our sight again. We don't want you goin' off and having an adventure without us."

Sam rolled her eyes. "I would hardly call _that_ an adventure." She lightly pushed him away, her arm still burning from the wound and his over enthusiastic greeting. She saw all three pairs of eyes narrow on it and before she could try to escape, Muck was gently taking her hand and lifting her arm for inspection. She looked up to see if Eugene or anyone would save her but she was disappointed to see that he was already busy with Bull. Bill, standing next to Bull, gave Sam a wink and a smile, then turned around to say something to Randleman and a grinning Johnny Martin, who inclined his head to her in greeting.

Left alone, she had no choice but to submit to her captors' interrogations.

"What happened?" Muck demanded, indicating her bandage. "You okay, doc?" He was squinting at her arm, as if trying to determine how bad the injury was.

Sam was spared from answering by the shouts of the commanding officers, instructing everyone to start loading up. She gently pulled her hand from Muck's grasp despite his protests. "I'll catch up with you later. I should go help Gene," she hedged, quickly jogging off before Muck could stop her. She heard a few grumbling mutters behind her, but quickened her pace until she had caught up to Bull. Eugene had already headed to one of the trucks, and Bull was slowly but surely following behind him. "Hey Bull. Gene gonna look at your shoulder?"

He nodded in the affirmative. "Sure is. I'll get it patched up real quick. But you should get yerself looked after too, darlin'. That arm can't be feelin' too good right now."

He was right, but Sam shrugged as they made it to the back of their truck and Bull started clambering in in front of her. She hesitated, wondering how she would pull herself up and in, when a hand appeared in front of her face. Her eyes followed it up to see a grinning Webster. Sam regarded the hand warily, before remembering that this was one of the men who had gone looking for her and Bull; she could trust him. Tentatively, she reached up and took the offered hand, and Webster quite easily hauled her in by her good arm. "Thanks, Web," she muttered quietly, sitting down hard beside him. Sam fiddled with the edge of her jacket for a moment, and Webster could see that she was working up to saying something more.

"Think you can help me with something else?"

"Sure," he agreed easily, noting how nervous she seemed. "What is it?" His blue eyes were a little unnerving as he studied her, and Sam quickly reached into her bag to pull out a clean bandage.

"I need you to re-wrap my wound for me. It's, um, too hard trying to do it with one hand."

Webster laughed amiably, setting his rifle aside as he reached for the bandage. He'd been one of the men to go looking for her, and had offered her a shoulder to lean on when they'd driven back in the jeep. He could tell she was uncomfortable asking for help, but at least she seemed open to the idea of _someone_ giving her a hand. She seemed comfortable enough with him, he noted, though she still regarded some of the others with wary looks.

Webster reached for her arm, ignoring the way she stilled, and inspected her wound. When he peeled the old bandage away, Sam winced, feeling it stick to the skin. Webster hissed in understanding, quickly pulling it the rest of the way of. His hands were gentle, but he was quick to press the new bandage on and wrap it tightly, careful not to pull too hard. When he was done, he sat back, and Sam gratefully took the dirty bandage from him, stuffing it in an empty pocket of her satchel.

"Thank you," she murmured. A half smile curled over her face, and Webster answered it with one of his own. "You're good enough to be a medic, you know? Ever thought about it?"

Webster shook his head. "Nah, no thanks. I'm fine being the wholly unobtrusive private everyone knows and loves."

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, starting to feel more comfortable in the conversation, the bouncing of the truck soothing as they rolled along. "'Wholly unobtrusive'?" she repeated. "Really."

He shrugged, still smiling. "What can I say? I like big words. It's kind of my thing."

"You went to Harvard, didn't you?"

"Yep."

"Explains a lot. So what brought you here?"

Web shrugged. "Just wanted to do my part," he explained, and then fixed Sam with a look. "I could ask the same of you."

Sam leaned her head back, smirking slightly. "Same thing. Just wanted to do my part." She could feel someone staring at her, and when she looked at Web, she noticed it wasn't him. He was facing the back of the truck, watching the men who followed on foot behind them.

Sam glanced across the bed of the truck. Bull was sitting in the middle of the men, legs dangling off the back. Sam looked over his head to see Eugene watching her with the barest hint of a smile. She smiled back and nodded, watching as he returned the nod. She mouthed 'we'll talk later' and he seemed content with that, if the widening of his grin was any indication. Sam was too tired to worry about catching up right then, or even worry about informing Winters of her return (not that he needed much informing, she was told later; he'd seen both her and Bull on the back of the truck himself).

Exhausted, she patted Webster's shoulder, earning herself a confused and surprised look, before she squished her bag between them and proceeded to use him as a pillow. He didn't complain at all and Sam wanted sleep too badly to worry about propriety or how very little she really knew about him. He would make a nice pillow, so a pillow he would be.

Sam didn't even complain when she felt him wrap his arm around her shoulders as she drifted off into a light sleep.

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Operation Market Garden was a failure, that much was clear.

Easy company pulled out of Eindhoven and Son, and ended up on "the island", just near the town of Nijmegen. The Germans were trying to blow a bridge, and it was the British and American's jobs to keep them from doing so.

It was now the beginning of October, and the men seemed to have a little bit of downtime here and there, mostly taking up positions inside abandoned or commandeered barns to keep dry and warm and keep from having to dig anymore foxholes.

Sam sat near the back of one of these barns, pencil in hand as she scribbled away in a small, leather bound diary she'd been given to keep track of the men who were killed or missing in action. There was a myriad of names inside of it, but many of the pages were also filled with thoughts, ideas, questions, hopes and dreams. Anytime something came up that she felt she needed to write, she would do so. And it was here, tucked away in her quiet little corner, that Eugene found her.

Sam glanced up as he settled beside her in the hay, pulling his helmet from his head and running a hand through his dark hair. Sam's eyes followed the movement as if mesmerized; she'd always thought his hair was too dark to be real. She'd never seen hair quite like it before, and more than once, she'd wondered if it was as soft as it looked (and immediately scolded herself for such stupid thoughts). Eugene glanced over, as if sensing her gaze, and her eyes snapped back to his as he offered her a tentative smile.

It had been almost a whole month since their drop into Holland, and since her first few days of trial by fire initiation as a medic, she actually found herself settling in comfortably. She'd gotten to know most of the men, at least their names and faces if nothing else. Mostly, she found herself in the company of Muck, Malarkey and Penkala, or Luz, Bill, Babe and Joe Toye. Even Webster, Hoobler, Cobb, Hashey and Garcia had joined the circle of people Sam trusted and really liked. She was even becoming rather fond of Christiansen, Bull, and even Lipton, Perconte and Johnny Martin; Liebgott, Smokey, Spina, and Sisk were less familiar to her, but she'd had pleasant conversations with each, and found them enjoyable. The list of men she was learning to trust was growing longer and longer by the day, and it seemed likewise for them.

Many had been a bit iffy about her and the fact that she was a woman; she even seemed to startle some of them from time to time when she'd take off her hat or helmet and speak. In the dark, she could pass off as a many completely, but in the daytime, thanks to her lengthening hair and their prior knowledge, it was harder and harder to be seen as 'one of the guys' and more as 'the lady medic.' They didn't give her grief about it, not out loud at least. But she could tell that some of them were still a bit dubious about having her there. At least until she was at their side, bandaging up a new wound or sticking a syrette of morphine into their legs.

A lot of them reminded her of the replacements from the 326th; they'd been as dubious as some of the men of Easy, but once they saw that she could do her job with the best of them, they left her alone. She didn't miss the whispered remark here or there, or the curious, disbelieving glances shot her way, but she found she was beginning to care less and less. Suddenly, her gender didn't matter to her as much as it used to, and whether they saw her as a woman or a man wasn't important; what was important was how hard she worked and how well she did her job, and she would do it so well that she would leave no room for doubt.

"Hey, Gene," Sam greeted quietly, her eyes darting quickly back down to her journal. She shut it with a snap, stuffing it and the pencil back into her bag.

"Hey yo'self." Eugene dug into his own bag, coming up with a small, foil wrapped bar that he handed over to an eager looking Sam. "Got this for ya." Chocolate, he'd discovered, was Sam's Achilles heel. She absolutely loved it, and since she didn't smoke, she often traded her spare packs of cigarettes for chocolate bars; more than once, Gene had dug around her medic bag and had come up with five empty foil wrappers and four or more uneaten bars. Sam had only smiled innocently and shrugged. Since then, he'd made it a point to bring her whatever chocolate he happened to find or be given. If it made her happy, then it made him happy.

When Sam quickly and eagerly took the bar from his hands, he leaned back with a chuckle, pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulders and getting comfortable in the soft hay. This was way better than a foxhole. "What were you writin' about?"

Sam's eyes lifted from her chocolate bar, fingers stilling on the wrapper as she leveled him with a look. He was leaning back in the hay, eyes closed, breath passing through slightly parted lips. He looked wholly peaceful, and it took her a beat to remember that he'd asked her a question. "Just thoughts," she admitted. It was hard to feel defensive around Eugene; he made everything seem calmer. "Ideas. Things that pop into my head. And notes I want to send to Lizzie when I get a chance to write her a letter." Sam let her eyes drop back to her candy bar as she finished unwrapping it. "Along with the names, of course."

Gene cracked open an eye, glancing at her quickly, before shutting it again. "'Course," he agreed amiably. "That sounds like a good use of it, in any case. How have you been holding up? You doing okay, _cher_?"

That nickname had become a constant with him; Sam was half amused by it, and half befuddled. She never quite plucked up the courage to ask him what it really meant, and she didn't dare broach the question with anyone else. She accepted it as a 'Eugene quirk' and moved along. She couldn't deny though, that it gave her a small thrill of pleasure every time he used it.

Sam lifted the chocolate bar to her lips, then seemed to reconsider and broke it in half. She held one piece out for Gene, nudging him with her hand when he didn't open his eyes. When he did, he saw the chocolate in front of his face, and grinned, accepting it easily; he was as fond of chocolate as she was, she'd discovered. "Yeah, I'm doing well. I mean, as well as can be. I guess the guys aren't so bad." Sam poked him playfully, a side Gene had never seen from her before emerging. "Well, most of them. There's this annoying medic who keeps asking me how I'm doing all the time."

Gene bit into his chocolate bar, his grin widening. "Well, the annoying medic just wants to be sure you're okay. Maybe the annoying medic worries about you, ya know? Give a guy a chance."

Sam rolled her eyes, enjoying the easy way they talked and bantered. Since coming back from her 'escapade' with Bull, Gene had been adamant that she stuck closer to the company, and Sam was usually sure to find him almost everywhere she went, unless either of them was busy doing something important elsewhere. He was like glue, and as much as she didn't like to admit it, she found it rather adorable, a word she absolutely hated to use, even in her own mind. He was like a mother hen; afraid his chick might get lost again if he wasn't there to herd her about.

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. I'll give him a chance if he does me a favor." She placed her chocolate bar on her knee, rummaging about in her bag as Eugene watched curiously, still chewing his chocolate bar. When Sam made a noise of frustration, he cocked an eyebrow.

"What are ya lookin' for?"

"I can't find my scissors," Sam muttered. "I was sure I put them in here."

"Where'd you see them last?"

"Not sure."

Gene watched her struggle for a few more seconds, before reaching into his front pocket and removing the scissors he kept there, handing them over. "I'll need those back. But you can use them. What do you need them for?"

Sam smiled ruefully as she took the scissors, before holding them back out to a confused Eugene. "Um…a haircut, if you don't mind?"

Surprised, Gene closed his hands around the scissors, sitting up in the hay. "A haircut? I can cut up uniforms easy enough, but hair ain't my specialty. Why don't you ask Liebgott? He used to be a barber, ya know." He watched as Sam removed her almost ever present hat, her curls falling down around her ears. He didn't think it was all that long, but maybe his idea of long hair was different than hers.

Sam shrugged. "Aw, come on, Gene. I trust you not to make me look like a badly shorn sheep. Give it a try."

Gene hesitantly reached up, taking a few red curls between his fingers, surprised at how soft her hair was. "Ah, well, okay," he hedged, before tentatively lifting the scissors and snipping off a few pieces. He continued on in silence, the 'snip-snip' of the scissors the only sound in the barn besides the low murmur of soldier's voices. When he was finished, her hair was quite a bit shorter, still curly, and didn't look _too_ bad, if he did say so himself. "Huh," he muttered, sitting back and tilting his head at her. "Maybe I could give Joe a run for his money?"

Sam started to lift her arms to pat her head, eager to see how short it was, when she hissed quietly, and Gene's eyes sharpened immediately as he dropped his scissors next to him in the hay without realizing what he was doing. "What?" he demanded, reaching out to grasp her arm and eliciting a muffled yelp from the woman in front of him. "Sam, what's wrong?" his eyes immediately went to her arm and his hand placed on it, and he put two and two together. "Are you _serious_? It's been almost three weeks since you got that wound. Let me see."

When Sam turned and pulled her arm away, crossing her other defensively over her chest and sticking out a stubborn bottom lip, Eugene's tone changed from demanding to angry. "That wasn't a request. It was an order. Let. Me. See."

"Eugene, it's-"

"Let me see, Sam."

His tone brooked no more argument, and reluctantly, Sam removed her jacket, revealing the short-sleeved brown-green shirt all men wore under their ODs. Eugene zeroed in immediately on her arm, and when he saw the bandage, he swore under his breath. "Ya god damned idiot," he growled, reaching for it and for his bag; Sam didn't dare scold him for his language. "You're a nurse-" He ignored her annoyed look at the term. "-you _know_ better! What the hell, Sam?! This is infected! Didn't you keep it cleaned and bandaged?"

"I'm sorry, Gene. I just got busy is all, and I needed to save the bandages for the men. And I-I think I forgot to put sulfa on it…I just forgot, okay? And I mean, I just thought-"

"Bullshit," Gene growled, yanking a package of sulfa, and fresh bandages from his pack before stripping the old bandage away to reveal the raw, infected skin underneath. He pulled his canteen from his belt, pouring the cold water over the injury and ignoring the way Sam flinched harshly under his touch. He tore the sulfa packet open almost too viciously, sprinkling it quickly on the wound. Sam winced, but Gene didn't seem to care as he rummaged again in his bag, producing a small box. He opened the box, pulling out a needle and syringe containing a small dose of penicillin. "If you'd taken care of this, I wouldn't have to waste this on you."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized he shouldn't have said them. But he was so angry at her lack of responsibility for her own health that he didn't care. He saw Sam turn her head, saw her face crumble and immediately close off, and all the work he'd done getting her to open up to him, to trust him seemed to have been thrown out the window with one careless sentence. But he was too upset at the moment to be bothered by it. He stuck the needle into her arm, maybe a bit more harshly than he wanted to. "You know better," he repeated, dropping the used needle back in the box and wrapping the bandages tightly around the wound. "You're a nurse. It'd be an awful stupid thing to die of a wound you could treat yo'self." When she didn't respond, Gene gripped her shoulder, giving her a light shake. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes," Sam uttered under her breath, keeping her eyes studiously focused on the ground. Gene felt the first inkling of remorse at the way he'd talked to her, but he shook it off quickly. He was only worried about her and she knew better! She should have been taking care of herself, or at the very least, let him take care of her. But she'd stayed silent, and now her damn arm was infected. She was lucky he'd caught it so early; another few weeks, and she might've lost it.

"You need to come to me every other day to change that bandage." When Sam looked like she would protest, he held up a hand. "Clearly, I can't trust you to do it yerself. Every other day, sergeant. Or I'll make sure Winters knows you're refusin' treatment for a wound you should've treated yourself." Gene stood, grabbing his bag and staring down at her with a stern, hardened gaze. "Understood, _sergeant_?"

Mutely, Sam nodded, and he felt something twist in his gut at the way she avoided his gaze, a familiar scowl settling back on her face. It reminded him of when he'd first met her, and she'd looked at him like he was something to be wary of, to stay away from. Her walls were up again, and he knew it was his fault, but at the moment, his only concern was for her well-being, and if she wasn't going to help herself, then it was his job to do it for her.

"Understood, _corporal_." She leaned back in the hay, jamming her hat back on her head and pointedly closed her eyes. Gene stared at her for a few more moments, poised on the edge of apologizing for his behavior, but instead, shook his head and turned on his heel. Sam listened to his booted footsteps fade as he left the barn, more than likely heading to check on the men or their aid station. Probably anywhere that wasn't here.

When another body plopped itself next to her, Sam didn't open her eyes. "Go away, Gene," she grouched, but the playful poke in her side that nearly sent her snorting off the pile of hay was not from Eugene. Instead, when she opened her eyes, she saw Muck grinning over at her, Malarkey and Penkala trailing close behind and dropping down onto the hay as well. "Yeah, sure. Just make yourself comfortable in my hay. I was here _first_." Still, his grin was infectious, and despite her sour mood, she found herself returning it, albeit only slightly.

"You and Gene get in a fight?" Penkala asked, using his pack as a pillow as he settled down opposite Muck on Sam's other side. "It wasn't very loud, but it still sounded like a fight. And he stormed out of here like he was pissed or something." He peered up at her, squinting suspiciously. "What did you say?"

"Why do you automatically assume it was me?"

"It's _always_ you."

"Oh, wow, _thank_ you. So much love."

" _So_ much. Now what did you do?"

"Nothing," Sam lied quickly, but they weren't buying it, and Malarkey, who's sat just in front of her, half on the hay and half on the floor, gave her a meaningful look. "What? It was nothing."

"Sure. So one of our medics, who never ruffles _anyone's_ feathers or ever has a cross word to say to anyone, just gets pissed off and up and leaves because of 'nothing.' I'm not buying it. What happened?"

"You guys are nosy."

"That's why you love us!" Muck quipped, settling in on her side and proceeding to, as he had done many nights before, use her shoulder as a pillow. She didn't really care, and suffered it in silence. He really was like a barnacle, as Gene had said. And he was nice, and sweet and funny, so she didn't push him away too often. Just _sometimes_.

"I'm reevaluating that stance as we speak. Look-" Sam paused, readjusting her cap nervously. "-I just…um, I forgot about something important. I've just been so dang busy running here and there and trying to help everyone out that I, er, I forgot."

"'Bout what?" Penk demanded.

"My…my arm?"

"Why do you make it sound like a question? You _forgot_ about your arm? You mean the wounded one? How do you just _forget_ about your arm? You're a medic, for Christ's sake."

"Yes, well, it hadn't been bothering me too badly until a few days ago, and…geeze, guys I just _forgot_. It happens, okay? I'm not perfect. And even if I _am_ a medic, it doesn't mean anything. I just got busy looking after everyone and you guys are more important than me in the long run. You've got to stay healthy."

"That's not true," Malarkey replied, his face serious for once. "No one is more important than anyone else. But people like you and Gene and Spina, well, you're different. When the bullets start flying, you're ones who have to go and get our sorry asses off the battlefield. If you don't take care of yourself, how can you take care of us?"

Sam considered his statement, feeling a small inkling of shame at his words. They were right. _Eugene_ was right. She had been stupid and irresponsible. She _did_ know better, after all, as Gene had reminded her so many times. She should've taken care of it, and maybe it wouldn't have become such a problem in the first place. Running a hand over her face, Sam groaned and flopped back into the hay, dislodging Muck who yelped as his head fell back and landed on her stomach instead of her shoulder. He didn't seem too put out, as this was far more comfortable, and settled in nicely beside her.

"Ugh," Sam moaned, quietly berating herself for her stupidly. "I guess you're right. It's my stupid fault. I'll…I'll apologize to Gene when I…see him next." God, she hated apologizing. It went against her very nature. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd apologized, and over half of those had been to her mother when she was a kid. She'd have to bite the bullet at some point, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth.

"Good. We don't want our favorite nurse dropping dead because of some stupid arm wound, right fellas?" Muck asked, and Sam lifted her hand and smacked him on the forehead. "Ow, geeze. I thought you were _wounded_."

"Not too wounded to kick your butt. I'm a _medic_ , you jerk. The only nurse around here is you."

Muck chuckled as the four of them settled in for the night, quietly chatting until they drifted off into a light sleep.

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Sam felt a little bit lost in the days that followed her and Gene's argument. She wasn't used to him not being around, and until she sought him out to change her bandage, he was doing a fine job of staying away from her. She knew she shouldn't have been surprised at his anger, but his silence and unwillingness to stick around whenever she was near was unusual and made her uncomfortable.

In hindsight, she should've just apologized then and there and admitted to being wrong and acting stupid. But she'd been ashamed and hurt by his words, even if he was right. So she hadn't, and as the time ticked by to her appointment with her medic friend to get her wound checked, Sam was dreading apologizing more and more.

When the day finally came, she dutifully reported to the makeshift aid station (a.k.a. a room in one of the barns) that she, Gene and the other medics had set up. Her eyes sought out the man she thought of as a friend, and she saw him, sitting near the wall smoking a cigarette and rolling bandages. Sam mentally winced; she didn't want to face him again after seeing the anger and disappointment on his face that night. She wondered if he was still mad at her as she tentatively approached him.

Gene glanced up when he heard Sam's slowed footsteps, watching with narrowed eyes as she meekly approached. After he'd left her that night, he'd tried to stay clear of her until his anger and annoyance at her utter stupidity and disregard for her own well-being had faded, but try as he might, he was still having a hard time getting over it. Seeing her now, looking contrite and apologetic, and even _hesitant_ to approach him made something inside of him deflate, and he forcibly softened his expression.

He didn't want to be mad at her, and truth be told, he'd missed her the past couple of days that he'd been avoiding her. He had gotten used to her always being around, talking or just sitting quietly near him. She had become familiar, comfortable, and he didn't like it when she wasn't nearby.

Gene set the bandage aside, motioning for her to come closer, and he didn't miss the way her eyes lit up just slightly when he did. She probably felt bad enough as it was, and he didn't think he had it in him to keep giving her the silent treatment for much longer. "Come 'ere."

That was progress, Sam decided as she dutifully did as she was told. She sat next to Gene on one of the supply crates as he stubbed out his cigarette, pulling off her outer jacket in silence and turning so he could see her arm. Despite his obvious annoyance with her, his fingers were gentle against her skin as he quickly and quietly unwrapped the bandage, inspecting the wound with a carefully trained eye.

"Looks better already, yeah?" he commented, reaching over to grab his bag from the floor, pulling out another packet of sulfa and a new bandage.

The silence stretched between them as he started re-wrapping the wound, and Sam fidgeted slightly, an apology just at the tip of her tongue when she felt his hands pause and then gently touch her shoulder.

"Relax, Sam," Gene breathed, and she turned her head to catch his gaze, curious and hesitant. "Look, I'm sorry. I've been-"

"Avoiding me?"

Eugene raised an eyebrow and Sam shut her mouth with a snap and a muttered "sorry."

"Yeah, avoidin' you. I was just angry, all right? Ya know if that had gotten any worse, you could've lost your arm? And then where would we be? Down one good medic. Still, I shouldn't have spoken to ya like I did; it was uncalled for. But when I saw yo' arm, I was just…"

"Just...?" 

"Scared, _cher_. That you were hurt, and it could've gotten worse and I never woulda known. I wouldn't have helped you or been able to _do_ anythin'." Gene kept his gaze studiously on the wound, fingers fumbling with the knot of the bandage until he felt a pair of hands wrap around his own and looked up to see Sam watching him.

"Jesus, Gene. _You_ don't need to apologize! That was _my_ fault! I was stupid, you were right. I deserved to be yelled at." Now that she was apologizing (for the first time in a long time), it was like the words wouldn't stop as they all came tumbling out. It felt good to get it off her chest. "I deserved all of it, okay? That was irresponsible and reckless and I'm _so_ sorry. I won't do anything like that ever again, okay?"

A faint smile curled over Eugene's face, and Sam wasn't really sure how to take it until his fingers squeezed hers softly. "It's all right, Sam. We're both sorry. I think the two of us have done enough apologizin' don't you? Let's just agree that you won't do something like that again, and I'll agree not to yell at you or treat you like a kid."

Sam puffed up her cheeks, putting on a mock affronted air. "Fine, agreed. You better keep that promise. Don't you dare treat me like a child, Gene, or so help me-" She was cut off by his hands smacking softly against her cheeks, forcing the air out in a loud puff, and she instantly dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Eugene didn't release her cheeks, watching her with a fond smile as she laughed. This was something he'd never really seen before, not from her. It was that small glimmer of a side of Sam that he was sure had long been forgotten and buried since she'd joined the nursing corps; she never talked or laughed or spoke as easily with others as she did with him, and he had honestly been worried that he'd ruined that when he'd called her out on her reckless behavior. But it seemed all was well, and he was relieved.

"Yer very pretty when you laugh like that."

Both Eugene and Sam still at his words, her blue eyes going wide as she stared at him, his hands still on her cheeks. He released her quickly, as if he'd been burned, and tore his eyes away as he stared at the ground. "Ah, I mean…sorry. I didn't mean to say that." And he hadn't; it had just slipped out. But the way she'd looked at him, as if he'd slapped her, made his gut twist painfully, and he didn't know if it was good or bad.

Sam was trying hard to regain the breath that had been knocked out of her by a few simple words. She had never, not once in her life, been called pretty by a _man_. It was a strange thing, a strange new feeling, and it made her stomach flutter in that nervous way it had just before she'd made her first jump out of a plane. "Um…" She didn't know what to say; did she thank him for the compliment? Did she pretend she didn't hear it? What was the protocol for situations like this? "Er, you don't…have to be sorry? No one has…ever said that to me before."

Eugene blinked, surprised at the admission. "Really? Well…it's true." He smiled tentatively, as if afraid any sudden move might startle her into running. "You should laugh more often, Sam. It suits you." He watched her cock her head to the side, a slow grin worming its way onto her face, and he felt a blush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. "Ah, yeah." He coughed to hide his embarrassment.

"Thank you, Gene. That's…that's really nice. I appreciate it." Feeling more than a little awkward, Sam reached out and patted his shoulder, before pulling her jacket back on and swiftly standing up. Eugene couldn't help but think that she seemed like she was in a hurry to leave. "Ah, uh, I'm gonna go get some food. You want any? I can bring something back for you."

"Um, sure," he managed, feeling like an even bigger idiot than he ever had before.

Sam shot him a half smile and a mock salute. "Right-o. Then I'll be back in a jiffy. Try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone." She turned and scurried off, her medic bag bouncing on her hip as Gene watched her go. He couldn't help but feel that something had shifted between them, but whether it was for better or worse, he still hadn't decided.


	7. Blown Away

A/N: Here is another chapter! Rollin' right along. I've actually almost finished the story, to be honest. It just keeps getting longer and longer, though. I keep thinking of new things to write. I'm considering throwing up my Soulmate modern AU with these two, if anyone would be interested? It will be a collection of related drabbles, basically. Some inspired by prompts on tumblr. I've also just watched The Pacific for the billionth time and I'm considering writing a drabble for that as well.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _It is well that war is so terrible, otherwise we should grow too fond of it." -Robert E. Lee_ _  
_

 **Chapter 7: Blown Away**

"Where did you get the dog, Tab?"

Sam ruffled the fur around the German Shepherd's neck, delighting in how happy he seemed to be at the attention. George Luz, Floyd Talbert and Dick Winters sat at the makeshift table with her, each admiring the dog, who Talbert had named Trigger and taking turns feeding him treats or throwing a stick for him.

Talbert shrugged and grinned widely. "Commandeered him."

"What do you mean? Is that a fancy word for 'loot'?"

"Can you _loot_ a dog?" Luz asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut up, Luz," Sam grumbled. "You know what I meant."

"Yeah, something like that, Sam," Talbert agreed. "He's a great dog, and he didn't seem too inclined to leave, so here he is." He held his hands out in a 'ta-da' motion. "No one has complained so far, so I guess it's good."

"Well, he is a nice dog, Tab," Winters admitted before pilfering one of George's crackers and taking a bite. Sam nodded in agreement, throwing the stick which Trigger happily returned.

"A hell of a dog, Tab," Luz agreed. "What do you call him?"

"Trigger," Sam replied, having been fussing over the dog for a good hour before he sat Luz and Winters joined her and Tab at the table and already well acquainted with him. Luz stuck his lip out at her.

"Oh, okay. So you're the new Talbert, huh?"

"I think I'd pull off the name 'Floyd' pretty well, don't you?"

"Sure, doc," Talbert agreed, reaching out to ruffle her hat fondly. Sam bore it with quiet dignity, and for once, didn't flinch away.

Winters observed her easy interaction with the men with a discerning eye; she was getting used to them, little by little. He was thankful for that; when she'd first arrived, she looked very uncomfortable around most of the men. Even now, she would sometimes shy away from conversations or rough affection in favor of keeping to herself, or he noted, their medic, Eugene. She seemed most comfortable with him, but she was slowly allowing others to breach the wall she'd put up around her.

Winters was worried her gender would make things difficult for her, but the men seemed accepting of her, despite it, as long as she did her job. There might have been a few grumbles, sure, but once she was at their side, bandaging a bleeding wound or sticking them with morphine, they shut up real fast. No one wanted to complain about the person who could potentially hold their life in their hands.

"Well, I think-" Winters began when there was a loud bang and the doors of the barn burst open. Trigger barked in alarm as Sam and Winters shot to their feet; Talbert quickly shushed the dog and led him off to get him out of the way. Luz, Sam and Winters bolted to the door as the men burst in, carrying a wounded Alley in their arms.

"We got penetration!"

Sam immediately charged towards the table as they deposited their injured friend onto it, grabbing her bag as she went and skidding to a stop beside Alley. She looked him over, eyes roving over the blood that coated his skin and uniform, searching for the worst of the wounds. Talbert and some of the other men immediately flocked to Alley, helping to get him situated on the table and straightening out his legs and arms. Lipton brushed up against her shoulder, locking eyes with her briefly before her hands were reaching for Alley.

"Boyle, get Doc Roe! Sam is gonna need help!" Winters commanded. "What happened?"

"Grenade," Lipton muttered, and Sam nodded as her fingers were already skimming over his chest, feeling the fragments of metal sticking up out of his skin here and there. He was breathing heavily, lashes fluttering as he murmured quietly, asking what happened and where he was. She could tell he was panicking, confused about his own pain. She had to get him to calm down.

Sam glanced up to see who was surrounding them, and her eyes landed on Liebgott. "Joe! Get the boots off; elevate his legs!" she commanded, already reaching for the sulfa in her bag and tearing it open. The men around her were marshalling to head back into the field, but Sam ignored them, leaning over Alley and gently lifting his lids. His pupils reacted to the light, and that was a good sign. He stood a fair chance of surviving his wounds. "I've got you, Alley. You're gonna be fine. Just listen to my voice; you're gonna be okay." Her fingers gently smoothed his hair back, and he seemed to relax against the table, mumbling under his breath in confusion, but no longer as panicked as before.

Another body burst through the door, brushing past the men and heading to Sam's side. She felt Eugene stop beside her, motioning to the men who were left. "Give me room," he demanded, before his eyes immediately zeroed in on his patient. He seemed satisfied with what Sam was doing. "We gotta call him a jeep. He can't stay here," he informed her, and Sam nodded, quickly sprinkling the sulfa across Alley's wounds, fingers gently tugging little pieces of metal from his skin. He seemed as though he was in a daze, neither making sound nor moving much beyond a few incoherent mumblings.

"Get on it, Gene. I've got him; he'll be all right." Sam lifted her eyes briefly to meet Eugene's, and he nodded, before he rushed off to call for a jeep.

"Hey Alley, stick with me," Sam murmured, realizing she was alone in the room, save for Liebgott and Boyle; the other men had oved out, marshaled into action by Winters and his platoon sergeants. She pulled bandages from her pack, shaking them out before pressing them against the mass of little wounds on Alley's side; shrapnel always looked bad because it peppered the skin and made you bleed from more than one place. It gave the appearance of a massive wound, when in reality, it was a bunch of little, painful ones.

It felt like hours passed as she stood there, crouched over Alley's body, gently picking metal from his skin, pressing the bandages tight to stop the bleeding. In truth, though, it was only minutes. He twitched and grunted every time her fingers dug into the wounds, but she studiously continued her grisly work, hoping to get as much of the shrapnel out as possible before he got to the hospital.

Eugene returned quickly, boots thudding against the dirt as he pushed the barn door wide open. "All right, we gotta move him. Come on Sam, hold those bandages on. We've got a jeep comin', let's go. Liebgott, Boyle, help me with him." The three men carefully hefted Alley up between them with Sam trotting along beside them, holding the bandages in place, fingers still haphazardly trying to pick out shrapnel. She could hear the distant sound of machine gun fire, and even closer, the sound of a jeep rumbling towards them in the dark.

The headlights were off, but she could clearly make out the vehicle as it approached, and helped the three men to steady Alley on the stretcher on the hood. "I'll go with him; I gotta get more bandages and morphine," Gene told her, gently taking her hand away from Alley's side and replacing it with his. "I'll be back soon. Stay safe."

Sam didn't get a chance to respond as the jeep reversed and rumbled out of sight again, Eugene's and the driver's silhouettes the only thing visible in the low light of the moon. Sam watched them go, and was aware of the two men beside her moving away. "Joe," she called, trotting after Liebgott and Boyle, who were hurrying to get their gear to join their squad in the field. "Joe, let me look at your neck. You're hurt."

Liebgott paused, as though considering, and then shook his head. "Naw, doc, I'm good. It's just a scratch." He and Boyle continued to the barn, and Sam followed, watching with disapproving eyes as they gathered their equipment.

"Joe, it's bleeding an awful lot. Who knows how close it could be to an artery. At least let me put that bandage on the _right_ way. It'll only take a second." When Joe didn't respond, Sam marched over, grabbing his shoulder and giving a solid tug. He spun round to face her, a scowl that could match her own written across his face. "Don't be stupid. Just let me wrap it. You'll thank me in the long run. Then you can go and join the men, okay?"

Sighing, Joe shrugged, putting his helmet down and plopping down on the bench. Sam smirked triumphantly, before reaching up to unwrap the poorly wrapped bandage and re-do it properly, sprinkling a small bit of sulfa on the wound just in case. In no more than a minute, she was finished, carefully pressing a finger against Joe's neck. When he winced, she 'tsked.' "If I don't see you after whatever battle you're running off to be a part of so I can take a proper look at that neck of yours, Joe, then this wound will be the least of your worries. So help me, I will hunt you down, you hear me? Now get going. And don't get yourself killed. I'll head out in a few minutes after I get some more bandages and sulfa."

Joe smirked, standing up and shoving on his helmet; Boyle was waiting for him at the door, a faint grin on his face. "You got it, boss lady!" Joe quipped, jogging over to his fellow soldier. "I will see you soon."

Sam quickly hurried to the back of the barn where she and Eugene had been storing some of their supplies, shoving sulfa and bandages into her pack in a haphazard fashion. With Eugene riding to the aid station with Alley and Ralph Spina, their other medic, there as well helping with some of the casualties and the influx of wounded, it would be her job to join the men on the line.

Once satisfied that she had enough supplies, Sam jogged out the door, catching sight of Joe and Boyle's silhouettes just up ahead in the dark. She put on a burst of speed, catching up to them. She could make out Joe's smile in the dark and slowed her pace as they hurried to catch up with the rest of the men.

Once they were a good way into the fields, they slowed to a walk, crouching in the tall grass and looking for their comrades. Sam caught a glimpse of a helmet just up ahead, and gently tapped Joe, pointing to their group. He nodded, and he, Boyle and Sam crawled towards them, stopping at the line of soldiers. Joe and Boyle moved further down the line, but Sam fell in beside George. He gave her a nudge on her shoulder, and Sam opened her mouth to whisper something to him when the sound of machine gun fire made her and the rest of the men freeze, crouching lower in the grass.

She could see Talbert and Winters just up ahead, whispering something about the gunfire, before Winters shimmied up the side of the dike to take a look at what was going on. Sam felt her heart catch in her throat, clutching her medic bag to her chest as she hugged the dirt, fearing for their commander. It took only a few moments for Winters to return and instruct the men to follow him. Sam stuck close to George as the rest of them hurried over the dike, pausing to lean against the grass covered hill, before shooting across the road as quick as they could.

The only sound in the dark was the heavy breathing of the men, and the crunch of gravel under their feet as they shifted positions, their movements covered by the rapid sound of German machine gun fire. Sam slid down the hill on the other side of the road, coming to rest in the ditch with the rest of them as Christensen set up his machine gun just at the edge of the road.

Winters was whispering commands. "This is our fallback position, here! Mortars, deploy here! First squad, on me. Go!"

Sam made to move and follow, but George shook his head, pushing her back in the ditch; she landed with a hard thump, looking up at him from beneath her helmet. "Stay," he ordered quietly. "Wait until you're needed We'll call ya. Just keep low." When Sam nodded, and George seemed satisfied that she wouldn't disobey him, he darted up the road to follow the rest of the men. Sam watched him go, just able to pick her squad out against the faint light of the moon in the sky, and bit her lip.

The first shots rang out, and Sam flinched, ducking back down in the ditch as Winters shouted for the men to fall back and their machine gun opened up on the Germans. She could hear the mortars going off, knowing Skip, Malarkey and Penkala, whom Winters had deployed behind them were probably hitting their targets perfectly.

The men scrambled back down the dike, back to the ditch they used for cover as German machine gun fire whizzed overhead, missing them by mere centimeters. Sam stayed low, even when George dropped to the ground next to her, rifle up and aimed and already shooting. She gave him a quick glance to be sure he was uninjured, and scooted further into the protection of the dirt, eager to keep her head as low as she could.

"Suppressing fire! Suppressing fire!" Winters was shouting as he ran by, and Sam watched with wide eyes, awed by his sheer bravery. He never flinched in combat, never batted an eye. He wasn't a fool by any means, but he would never ask a man to do something he wouldn't do himself. Sometimes, she knew, his words of encouragement were all that made a man stand up and shoot.

He barked orders down the line once he hit the dirt, and Sam heard him shout for Dukeman to get the machine gun on the right flank. Dukeman dutifully did as he was told, running down the line behind the soldiers and shouting for Christiansen. Just as he reached Sam's position, there was a heavy thud, and he gave a grunt and then slumped forward at her feet. Sam knew that 'thud' had been the sound of a bullet finding flesh, and she immediately reached for him, just as she heard Liebgott shout "Fuck! Dukeman's down!"

Her fingers scrabbled at his jacket, tearing the fabric and buttons aside as she searched for the wound. He wasn't making any noise, lying far too still for her liking. But she was desperate to get to the source of the blood that now seeped between her fingers and into his uniform. "I gotcha, Dukeman, I gotcha," she muttered, hearing bullets whiz by her ears and thud into the soft dirt around her. She prayed she wouldn't get hit, or at least if she did, that she'd get hit after she got him patched up. "You're gonna be okay. You'll be all right."

George was beside her now, shooting forgotten, and helped her to tear through the fallen man's jacket. She didn't even spare him a glance, fingers slicking across Dukeman's bloody skin as she frantically searched for the hole the bullet had made.

"Doc," she heard quietly, and then louder. "Doc!" But her focus was on Dukeman, on finding that hole. Her fingers scrabbled against his skin as she finally found it, just shy of where she thought his heart was. She plugged two fingers into it, digging for the bullet and the artery she was sure it had hit. "Doc!" A hard hand yanked on her shoulder, dragging her hands way from Dukeman, and she looked up to snarl at whomever had interrupted her to see George shaking his head. "He's gone!"

Sam couldn't quite believe that; her eyes darted to Dukeman's face, finding it slack and unresponsive, and she realized that George was right. She couldn't feel a heartbeat against his blood soaked chest, and she realized that even as she'd been searching for the hole the bullet had made, there had been no heartbeat either. She sat back, carefully pulling his torn jacket closed, and crouched back in the dirt. George shot her a look, but said nothing more as he resumed his position, firing on the Germans.

Sam was quiet as bullets flew by overhead, staring at Dukeman's body, at his sightless eyes, at the accusing stare that said _"Why didn't you save me?"_

88888

Their tiny ragtag group of men had not only taken the crossroads, but routed an entire company of Hitler's SS soldiers that they hadn't even realized were there. Boyle had been hit badly in the leg by German artillery, but Sam had patched him up as best she could and once the fighting had let up, he'd been taken to the rear. When the German mortars started coming in, she'd crouched in the ditch with Boyle, shielding him with her body as Winters and George, who'd grabbed Boyle off the road, pressed up on either side of her.

When the shooting and the artillery had died off and they had successfully routed the Germans, Sam was free to check over anyone else who was wounded. Men were still running about haphazardly, restoring order in the chaos and trying to handle the prisoners they'd taken. Eugene had joined the squad again not long after, and she'd known by the look on his face that he wanted to ask her how she was, but the sharp cry of "Medic!" had sent him scurrying off to answer. Sam had shrugged to herself and wandered off to tend to the other men who had been injured in the firefight, and between the two of them, they'd managed to at least patch the men up to be transported to the rear.

She was currently sitting with Webster and Skinny Sisk, looking over the wound on Webster's leg with a frown and putting a bandage on it so he could make it to the aid station on his own. 

"Jesus, Web. Did you have to go and get yourself hit?" she joked, but her heart wasn't really in it, and the humor attempt fell flat.

"Sorry, doc. 'They got me.' Can you believe I said that?" Web replied with a sheepish grin, before getting a really good look at Sam's face. Whatever he saw there made his grin vanish quickly, and he leaned forward a little to give her a nudge. "You okay, Sam? You look…Well, are you all right?"

Skinny turned to look at their female medic as well, not having noticed the strain around her eyes and mouth or the way her fingers shook just slightly as she tied the bandage. He tentatively reached out to put a hand on her back, and she flinched under his touch, but didn't reject it. "Yeah, doc. Anything we can help with?"

"I'll be fine, boys. And no thanks, Skinny," Sam said quickly, brushing off their concern. "I'm not the one who got hit by shrapnel." She gave Web's leg a pointed look before tightening the bandage. He gave a tiny yelp, and Sam grinned evilly. "Now get your butt up and head to the aid station. You can make it there on your own, right? I can send someone with you, if you need me to."

"Nah, I'm good. I can make it." He hopped up with the help of Skinny, balancing admirably on one foot, and Sam handed him his helmet and his gun. "I will see you…someplace else." He patted her shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze, before he hobbled off. Sam watched him go, still keenly aware of Sisk watching her with concern.

"I said I'm _fine_ , Skinny," she reiterated, turning to face him. "Why don't you go see if anyone else needs some help and let me know?" When he didn't move, Sam raised an eyebrow. "I'll make it an order if I have to, ya know. Come on, get movin'. I told you, I'm fine."

"Doc-"

"Skinny, get going."

Skinny hesitated once more, and then finally let out a long breath. "Fine, whatever you say, sarge. I'll let you know if anyone needs anything." He headed up and over the drainage ditch, and Sam watched him go, glad for just a second alone.

She took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly, before she followed in Skinny's wake, scrambling over the side of the ditch and climbing onto the road. The gravel crunched under her boots as she walked along it, listening for the telltale call of "Medic!" to respond to. But for the most part, everything seemed well in order, and things were running smoothly. She spotted Eugene further up the road, helping to set up a makeshift coffee and food station for the men, and aimed to go and join him before she caught sight of Winters crouching beside a post in the road, staring out into the field filled with dead SS Soldiers.

Curious, Sam wandered over, kneeling beside her captain and following his gaze. He didn't acknowledge that she was there, but she knew he was aware of her presence, because only a moment later, he spoke.

"They were just _kids_."

Sam's eyes scanned the field, seeing the bodies of the Germans littering the grass, and nodded silently. Most of the men she saw didn't look old enough to shave, let alone fight in a war. She recalled Nixon saying that the Germans in Holland were mostly "kids and old men." She hadn't thought much of it then, but seeing the young faces covered in blood, their wide, sightless eyes staring up at a sky they'd never see again, Sam feel an acute pang of sadness in her heart.

"They were, sir," she agreed. She chanced a glance at Winters, noting that he didn't seem inclined to look away, or even blink. "But I think we all know what we sign up for when we put on a uniform. Don't you?"

Winters finally turned his head, giving her a hard, thoughtful look, as if measuring her words. She knew he was; he was probably trying to gauge her meaning, and whether she was talking about the Germans, him, or herself. "You're right, doc," he admitted. "It still doesn't make it feel right."

"No. No it doesn't. But war has a way of changin' right and wrong, makin' the lines between good and bad a little blurrier than normal. We do what we're told, and so do they, sir. We can't change it. We can't question it. But we can do our jobs, and we can make sure that ourselves and as many of the men as can be make it back home in one piece. Doesn't _that_ feel right, captain?"

Winters was silent, canting his head to the side as he weighed what she was saying. "You're right again, Sam," he agreed after a long stretch of quiet between them. Sam's eyes lingered on the field of Germans as her captain stood, looking down at her. " _That_ feels right. There aren't many things in this war that do, _except_ for that." Sam slowly nodded, and Winters continued to look down at her, giving her a once over and appraising her now that his mind was a little less burdened. She looked tired, and he could see her fingers shaking as they nervously wound themselves in the sleeves of her too big jacket. She was still staring at the field, blood from the wounded coating her ODs. "Sam, you all right?"

Turning quickly, Sam shot him what she hoped was a convincing smile. "Yeah, just fine, sir. Just a little tired. I haven't slept much in the past few days." The lie wasn't very convincing, not even to her, and Winters raised a brow, looking like he didn't believe her. Before he could press the issue, however, Nixon approached the two, the crunch of his boots on gravel loudly interrupting the question on the tip of Dick's tongue.

"Twenty-two wounded, huh? You two okay?" Nixon asked, coming to stop just beside them.

"Yeah," Winters replied and Sam echoed with a nod. "One killed."

"Who?" 

Winters glanced at Sam, saw her jaw set as she turned to Nixon, but spared her from answering. "Dukeman."

"Dukeman," Nixon repeated, his gaze straying to the field. The German bodies would probably be moved soon, or else left to rot. Sam doubted it would be the latter. "You know you're lookin' at two full companies of SS out there. 'Bout fifty dead, another hundred wounded. Seven back in the regimental cage, plus a whole string of them up there. That's not bad for Dukeman."

He didn't say it with any sort of irony, and the way he said it let Sam know that it wasn't a joke, and he wasn't making light of the man's death. Still, when she glanced down at the blood on her ODs, on her hands and under her fingernails, she couldn't help but remember Dukeman's face, the accusation in his unblinking eyes as he gazed up into stars he'd never see again.

"You got a drink? Of water?" Winter asked quickly, interrupting Sam's train of thought. Nixon unhooked his canteen and handed it to his friend, who looked at him dubiously.

"Yeah, it's water," he clarified with a sniff of the canteen before handing it over. Winters took a long drink, handing it over to Sam in an unspoken question. She wasn't about decline, suddenly feeling an almighty thirst creep up on her and realizing she'd left her canteen back at the barn. She took it gratefully, taking a hasty drink, before handing it back to Nixon. He seemed unconcerned with the fact that two other people had drank from his canteen, and simply screwed the cap back on and put it back on his belt.

A long moment of silence passed between them before Nixon looked between Winters and Sam and voiced the question that he'd wanted to ask since walking up: "You okay?"

Winters shot him a look, before standing and picking up his helmet and gun, heading back down the road towards where the men were gathering with a crunch of gravel. Nixon was left with Sam, and when he raised a dark brow at her, she shook her head.

"Don't even ask," she muttered, standing as well and she stalking off after Winters and back to the men. The two officers veered off to talk to Colonel Sink, who Sam studiously ignored. She headed towards where Skip, Penkala and Malarkey were sitting on the side of a ditch, tin cups in one hand and spoons in the other.

 _Probably complaining about the taste of the food_ , she thought with a wry smile, scrambling over to them and up the dirt to settle beside Skip. "Hey nurse. Penk, Malark. How's it goin'? You guys okay? That was some spot on marksmanship with those mortars."

"It's goin' okay," Penkala replied with a grin.

Skip nudged her, chewing the food in his mouth and unable to reply.

"Why _thank you_ , doc! Mighty nice of _someone_ to notice our God given talents," Malarkey crowed, standing up from the dirt. "I'm gonna go get seconds. You want some?"

Sam canted her head to the side and shrugged, never one to refuse food. "Sure, why not?" She dug out her mess kit and handed it to Malarkey, who trotted off to get them some grub. Left alone with Penk and Skip, Sam settled into the dirt, lying back and closing her eyes and putting her hands behind her head. She was glad for the moment of relaxation, with no one asking her questions or worrying about her.

"Hey, so that blood isn't yours, right?"

Ugh, she spoke too soon.

Skip's question made her growl in the back of her throat, and she opened one eye to glare at him. "No. Don't ask me any more questions or I will slap you into next week."

"Sheesh," Skip grouched, stuffing another bite in his mouth. " _Someone_ had a rough night."

Penk was staring up at her with narrowed eyes. "You sure you're-"

"Alex."

He stiffened, and immediately shut his mouth at her warning snarl. "Yes ma'am." He quickly went back to his food.

Sam sighed, sitting up; she knew they meant well, but she'd been asked if she was okay way too many times for her to want to answer it anymore. And she was okay, mostly. She just needed sleep, she decided. A little sleep would help her get over the shaking and the strain she felt tugging at her mind and heart.

Her eyes darted back over the men, and she caught sight of Nixon, who was waving an arm to get her attention and standing beside Colonel Sink. She pointed at herself in confusion, and when he nodded, she hauled herself to her feet with a grumble, shooting a quick "Be right back" to Skip and Penk. Jogging over, Sam saluted Sink when she reached him, a cautious look on her face.

"Sir?"

"Sergeant Branigan, Cap'n Nixon here was apprising me of your actions thus far since joinin' Easy Comp'ny and the 326th. I have to say that I am mighty impressed with your performance. I had my doubts at first, but I think you've proved that a woman _can_ be a medic as easily as any man."

Sam wasn't sure how to take that, but nodded hesitantly. "Thank you, sir."

"We're goin' to be reccomendin' other nurses who have shown interest in becomin' medics to be trained and placed with other comp'nies. I think they have you to thank for that. If this hadn't gone as well as it had, they'd never have gotten the chance. And by God, a lot of them are as good if not _better_ than the men in the field. I think it'll work out nicely."

Sam's mind was reeling; this was the most progressive thing she'd ever heard of the army doing in a long, long time and they were actually going _through_ with it. They would finally give women the chance to prove they could be every bit as good as the men in the field. Most of the nurses were well trained enough that they could probably patch up just about any wound that came their way. Sam smiled at the thought; she was helping to forge a new path for women in the military, and she was proud to be a part of that.

"Well, sir…I…I don't know what to say. I'm really glad you'll be giving women a chance to prove themselves. We're tougher than you think, you know. It's a really great idea, sir."

"It wasn't mine, but I'll pass your endorsement along, sergeant. In the meantime, you're going to be permanently assigned to Easy."

"I…Wasn't before?"

"No. You were, technically, with the 326th, remember? But I want you reassigned to Easy Company. You work real well with them; the boys get along with you, and you don't seem to have any problems with them, as far as I've heard. So I think it would be beneficial to have you reassigned. That way the higher ups don't think to swoop in and steal ya back to the 326th once they find out how valuable you are." He winked with a smile, and Sam felt her own smile answering back. "Does that sound all right with you, Sergeant?"

"It's more than all right with me, sir. I appreciate it a whole lot, colonel. I really do."

"See?" Nixon quipped. "I told you she'd be happy with it, sir. All right, Sam. We've kept you long enough; go get yourself some food. Dismissed."

"Yes sir!" Sam saluted both the colonel and Nixon, and trotted back over to Skip and Penkala. Malarkey came jogging up about the same time.

"What was that about?" Skip questioned, still wary of Sam after her earlier threat. Her smile made him feel more at ease though as she plopped down back in the dirt, taking the mess tin full of sloppy army food that Malarkey handed her.

"I've been permanently assigned to Easy, as one of your medics," she declared. "And Sink wanted to let me know they were considering training other women to be medics." She eagerly dug into her food as the three men let out hoots of excitement.

"So you're stuck with us, then?" Penk asked, his grin wide and excited.

"Unfortunately," Sam mumbled around her mouthful, though she winked to show it was a joke.

"Best damn news I've heard all day," Skip crowed, digging back into his food.

"What's the best news?"

Sam looked up as a shadow blocked out the sun to see Eugene in front of her, holding a tin cup of coffee out for her to take. She could see his eyes roving over her, assessing her and checking for injuries even as she reached to gratefully accept the proffered tin. Once she did, Gene settled himself beside her without preamble, making himself comfortable in the dirt.

"Sam here is an _official_ Easy Company medic," Malarkey informed him. "She's one of us for good now!"

"That right?" Gene asked, brows furrowed and a faint smile on his face as he looked to Sam. She nodded, her mouth too full of food to answer. He chuckled when she puffed her cheeks out at him, looking more like an oversized squirrel than a medic. "Congratulations, Sam! 'M glad you won't be goin' nowhere. Now we can annoy you all the time without worryin' about ya runnin' back to the 326th."

"As if she'd _ever_ do that," Skip scoffed, and then protested with a "Hey!" when Sam kicked lightly at him with one of her booted feet.

"But 'sides that, Sam…" She could already anticipate Eugene's question, but Sink had lightened her mood considerably, and she was willing to entertain it. "Are ya doin' all right? Ya ain't hurt, are ya?" He indicated the blood streaking her ODs and she knew she was a sight to see.

"No, Gene," she replied, taking another bite of her food. "I'm all right. Just tired. I could use a good rest. Like a _long_ one. Like a month long _nap_."

"Amen to that," he remarked, the corner of his lips quirking up. "Well, I'm glad. If ya ever need ta talk about anythin', you know I'm here for ya, right?"

"I know, Gene," Sam replied, watching his face and eyes soften. "I know."

88888

"I don't want that."

Sam stared at the offered piece of paper in Muck's hand dubiously, fingers deftly rolling spare bandages as she sat on some supply crates in the barn they were staying in. When he waved it again in front of her, she puffed it away with a large breath of air. "No. I don't want it."

"Oh, come on already, Sam. Do you know how hard I had to work to get this?"

"Probably not very."

"You are a very mean lady; you know that?"

Sam resisted the urge to throw the bandages at his face, and instead shrugged. "I don't want it. I don't care how many officers you had to give those puppy dog eyes to-" She pointed imperiously at his face. "-yes, _those_ eyes."

"But Sam-"

"Tell it to someone who cares."

Muck growled. "Fine. Doc!"

From across the barn, Eugene looked up from the conversation he was having with Malarkey, Penkala, and Hoobler. "What?" he demanded, brows furrowing as he looked between a scowling Sam and a grinning Muck. "What are you up to now?"

"I don't know _why_ you'd think I'm up to something," Muck replied innocently, ignoring the snorts from Penkala and Malarkey. "But while we're on the subject…I got Sam a 3-day pass to France, and she won't take it. Make her take it, doc."

They'd been in Nijmegen for some time, having seen sporadic action; they'd since moved to Driel, Holland. Since routing the company of SS soliders, Winters had been promoted, and Moose Heyliger was their new CO; Sam hadn't talked to him much, but he seemed a decent guy, and she was sure he'd be a good commander. In the meantime, the men were enjoying a little bit of freedom, going here and there and taking advantage of the little downtime that they had.

Muck, a true friend, had gone to Winters to ask if Sam could have a pass to use for when they got back to France. He didn't know how long that would be, but it didn't take a fool to see that their newest medic needed a little bit of a break from the men and the line. Sam meant a lot to him; not in a romantic way, of course, but she was still a good person, and he was fond of her. He wanted to do something nice for her. Winters had agreed with his idea and offered the man a three-day pass to give to Sam.

Eugene's eyes darted to Sam, and he saw her dip her head to hide her smile. With a shrug, he drawled: "If you think I can make her do _anythin'_ , then you better think again. She don't listen to me in the slightest."

"Yes she does!"

Eugene scoffed. "If you mean she listens to what I say and then does the exact opposite, then yeah, sure, she listens." He looked over at Sam. "Take it Sam." When she didn't respond, he shrugged and lifted his eyes back to Muck. "If she don't want it, then there ain't nothin' you can do. Why don't you give it to someone else?"

Muck opened his mouth to reply when he felt the paper being tugged out of his hand, and whirled around to see Sam staring down at it, eyes skimming the page. "Okay, fine. I'll take it. Thanks, nurse."

"Wait…what?"

"Well, Gene did say that I always do the opposite of what he says to do. So I might as well make him right."

Eugene squinted an eye at her, a smile on his face. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"I ain't callin' you a truther."

"Sam, that's not a word," Malarkey reprimanded, shaking his head at her. "Use proper English."

Sam grinned widely. "Shhh, precious angel child. No more words from your mouth."

"You're so weird."

Ignoring Malarkey's comment, Sam tucked the piece of paper in her pocket, looking back up at Muck. "Thanks, nurse. Really. I don't know if I'll use it, but I might. I've never seen France before, and I hear Paris is really pretty. So why not?"

"Yeah!" Muck agreed, waggling his eyebrows. "Maybe I can go with you too." It was a joke, purely he wasn't interested in going with her as anything but a friend, although a pass and some time off did sound good. Even if he wasn't romantically interested, it didn't stop him from pestering and joking with her about it. She took it all with a grain of salt and a graceful smile (and sometimes a punch to the shoulder if he annoyed her too much).

"Ah, the motive comes out, doesn't it?" 

"Oh come on. No motive. But Paris is the city of lights and love, right?

"Not in a million years, buddy."

"Geeze, Muck, way to be subtle," Hoobler quipped from his place across the barn. "Too bad for you. Don't look like she's interested." He nudged Gene, who cleared his throat and blushed lightly. None of the boys were stupid; they were all men who were liked in women, and they knew very well what a man who was interested in a woman looked like. Gene got that look every time he was around Sam, even if she didn't recognize it. "Doc here has more of a chance than you; he even gave her a haircut. Ain't that right, doc?"

"Shut up, Hoobler," Gene grumbled, studiously avoiding Sam's amused gaze. He noted that she didn't seem bothered by any of the talk around her, and that was encouraging. Still, the idea of her and Muck going to Paris alone was one that he didn't quite feel up to entertaining. Not that he was jealous of the easy way Muck acted and flirted around Sam. He sort of envied the man that; the casual touches, the friendly banter. He supposed he could get away with it, if he tried, but he didn't dare and he wasn't sure why exactly. He wasn't sure _what_ he was afraid of, just that he was.

"No, no, I mean it," Hoobler continued, oblivious to Gene's discomfort and hoping to help their soft-spoken medic in the romance department. Sam's smile started fading slightly, noting the way Gene was fidgeting and avoiding her gaze. What was wrong? He was usually okay with a bit of good natured joking and ribbing. So why was he getting upset now? Was it because it was about _her_? "I mean, Sam and Doc are always together anyway; and they knew each other as kids. Hell, Sam even beat Gene up when they were little! I think that's true love."

"I said shut up, Hoobler," Gene snapped, picking up his medic bag and heading for the door. Sam watched him go, as surprised as the others about how sensitive he'd been about it. It was all in good fun; just a bunch of jokes. So why was he getting his feathers all ruffled for nothing?

 _Maybe it's because it's about me, and he's uncomfortable with that. Maybe the idea of him and I together, even if it's a joke, doesn't sit well with him. Geeze, Gene, way to make me feel good about myself,_ Sam thought acerbically, narrowing her eyes at the retreating medic. "Ya know, Muck, I think I might take you up on that offer. Might be fun to see Paris with someone who actually _enjoys_ my company," Sam quipped, turning back to Muck and saying it loud enough for the retreating medic to hear. She saw Gene's shoulders stiffen slightly, but his steps didn't falter. Sam wondered if she should have kept her mouth shut; she didn't want him to be upset with her any more than he already seemed to be. Jokes didn't usually bother him so much, so why did it bother him now?

 _Unless…_

Gene was almost to the door when a flustered looking private, a replacement from one of the companies that Sam didn't know yet, burst through the barn doors frantically.

"Doc!" he cried, grabbing Gene's arm in a vice-like grip. Gene looked surprised, but Sam was already up and on her feet, bag at her side, wonderings forgotten as she raced over to them.

"What is it?" she demanded. "Who's hurt?"

The young soldier looked somewhat startled to see her, before he gave himself a shake. "It's…Lieutenant Heyliger! He's been shot! Winters told me to come get you!"

Sam and Eugene exchanged a look, both snapping into medic mode as they raced out of the barn, hot on the panicking private's tail. Behind them, they heard the confused and concerned murmurs of the men, probably discussing what the hell had happened, but content to wait and see what news their medics brought back; there was nothing much they could do, so they'd just leave it up to those with the medical training.

Sam and Eugene hurried along, catching sight of a commotion up ahead, just outside of the headquarters, where a jeep and an ambulance sat waiting. There were a few men milling about, barking at one another and looking like a general mess of confusion. As they reached them, Gene rushed to Welsh and Moose's side, arms instantly around Heyliger's shoulders. "I got him, Harry!" he commanded, just as Sam reached them as well, arms outstretched to help Gene lift Moose. The man was not a light one, and Harry, Winters, Gene and Sam struggled to get him on the stretcher.

"I'm sorry sir, I'm _so_ sorry! I didn't know!"

Sam could hear the jumpy young private's voice, apologizing profusely to Winters. She had no idea what happened, but she was sure she'd hear the full story later. Right now, Moose was their priority and the only thing she knew was that he was bleeding. A lot. "What happened?" she demanded.

"He was shot by a sentry," Winters replied, ignoring the way the frantic young private from before stiffened and let out a muffled noise that sounded almost like a sob. "Four times, I think. You got him, doc?"

Sam took a second to determine which 'doc' he was talking to, and noted he was looking at her as he said it. She adjusted her grip on Moose, nodding. "I got him, sir. Get those ambulance doors open. Did you give him morphine?" she demanded of Welsh, who nodded quickly.

"Yeah," he said with a grunt as they finally got Moose onto the stretcher.

"How many?" Roe asked, looking Heyliger over, his brow knit in confusion.

"I dunno. Two? Three syrettes, maybe?"

"'Two? Three syrettes _maybe_?' Jesus Christ, were you _tryin'_ ta kill him?!" Eugene barked. Sam flinched, but her hands were already eagerly tearing the fabric of Moose's jacket, picking at the bandages hastily plastered to his skin. She needed to see the damage for herself, but it was difficult with all the jostling and yelling and low light.

"I think it was two," Welsh replied distractedly.

"You don't think it would be important to let me know how much medication the man has had, huh?! 'Cuz I don't see one syrette on the man's jacket!"

"Sorry, Doc," Winters apologized, and Sam stayed silent, knowing she would do well to stay out of this, as she grunted with the effort of helping to haul Moose's stretcher into the ambulance.

"It's a good thing he's a big man! Maybe he stands a chance!" Gene snarled, and Sam didn't dare look at him as she placed her boot on the back of the ambulance and jumped inside, sitting down beside the stretcher. She immediately placed her hands on the wounds, putting pressure on them to stop the bleeding as she got a good look at him; he had indeed been shot four times, and was bleeding steadily. Good God, he was lucky to be alive after that!

Sam grabbed a flashlight from her belt, holding it up to inspect the wounds. Now that she had a bit more light, Sam slowly peeled back one of the bandages. Four fairly neat holes had been blown into his chest, the skin shredded where they'd hit and blood pumping steadily from them. His body was slick with the blood, and she tried in vain to wipe it away, fingers slipping over his skin as she tried to find the holes. She used the bandages to put pressure on them, poking the cloth into the wounds. Winters and Welsh had used sulfa on him, she could tell, so she wasn't concerned about that at the moment. Right now, pressure was their best bet until they got to a hospital and some good lighting.

"He was in a lot of pain, Doc," Welsh tried to explain, and Sam snapped her head up to look at them. "We didn't know what to do."

"Yeah, well you oughta!" Gene snarled, and Sam, Winters and Welsh all looked surprised. Sam wondered why Gene was suddenly so angry; she'd never seen him like this. Was it just because of the wounds, or the lack of syrettes on Moose's jacket? Was there something else going on? Either way, they'd need to save this conversation for later.

"Gene," she called, and he glanced at her, before his furious gaze shifted back to Winters and Welsh.

"You know, you are officers and you are grownups! You _oughta_ know!" And with that final reprimand, Eugene leapt into the back of the ambulance. "Let's go! Move it!" he shouted as Winters closed the back door and banged on the window. Sam stared at the bloody handprint he left there for a moment, before her eyes strayed to Gene, who was opposite of her on the other side of Moose, head bent slightly as he closed his eyes.

"Eugene?" she ventured, voice quiet. "Are you…okay?"

"They could have fucking _killed_ him!" he exploded suddenly, looking up at her with a grief stricken face. Sam was taken aback by the look; she'd never seen anything so raw and so emotional and utterly _vulnerable_ coming from the soft-spoken medic. "Because they were stupid! Just because they did something stupid, a man could have _died_! We trained for this! Over and over and over! They know better! Fuck!" He slammed his fist into the side of the ambulance, and Sam winced slightly, knowing there was a good chance he had just hurt himself quite a bit.

"Gene, it's okay. We're going to get Moose to the hospital; he'll be fine. We just have to put pressure on his wounds 'til we get there. Winters and Welsh were only trying to help; they didn't mean anything by what they did. They just wanted to help their friend. Everyone makes mistakes, even officers."

She pointedly looked down at Heyliger, one hand on the bandages as she reached up the other to smooth over his forehead. She felt Eugene's gaze on her, but ignored it and she lifted his eyelids, checking his eyes; the pupils were different sizes, an indication that he was probably overdosed on morphine. But his sheer size told her he'd probably survive that, at the very least. "Hey lieutenant. Stay with us; you're gonna be fine." Moose mumbled something incoherent, his eyelids fluttering as he looked up at her in the dim, hazy light of the darkened ambulance cab.

"S-S..a…" he managed weakly, and Sam shot him a baleful smile.

"That's right, sir. It's Sam. Eugene is here too. Don't worry. We gotcha." Sam ran her hand along Moose's forehead, making soft, shushing noises as she did so. He seemed to relax, his body and breathing evening out for the moment; the morphine had probably knocked him flatter than the bullet wounds had. She saw another pair of hands appear beside hers, putting pressure on the bandages. When she lifted her eyes to Gene's, she saw something shift in them, and he was looking at her like he'd never seen her before, lips slightly parted and gaze curious. "What?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he replied quickly, shaking his head. He lowered his eyes to Moose, and Sam knew he was skirting the issue, but now wasn't the time to press it. "Nothing at all."

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The company headed back to France not long after they lost their new CO, and gained a new one: Norman Dike. They spent three weeks with him in Holland, and had already given him a new nickname: Foxhole Norman.

No one was really fond of Dike, and Sam couldn't say she had an opinion about him either way. She generally steered clear of the officers, save for a few good ones, like Compton, Winters and Nixon. Dike was aware of her, though; she'd caught him watching her whenever she would walk past, running to and fro as she stockpiled what little medical supplies she could get her hands on. She always made it a point to salute him, and he always made it a point to return the salute, but she never actively engaged him in conversation, and he didn't seem interested in that either way. So she just avoided him.

He eagerly forced the company to start drills, which felt more like parade ground practice than actual combat drills. Sam was generally excluded, but occasionally joined them, marching in step alongside Eugene and feeling more and more annoyed that her time was being wasted doing something so meaningless, when she had supplies to try and gather.

No one seemed too concerned about their lack of supplies or preparedness; they were sure that there wouldn't be any action until March, and they figured they had plenty of time to get what they needed before that. Sam wasn't so sure; she knew the value of being prepared, and she always expected the unexpected. Supplies were short, but she got what she could, and quickly and efficiently stashed it away in her medic bag for whenever she'd need it.

Of course, now that they were back in France, Muck had begun pestering her again about her 3-day pass. He remembered her joking that she would spend it with him, and although Sam assured that it had been _only_ a joke, he was still adamant about her using it (even if he wasn't involved in any way).

"Come on, Sam!" Muck whined, wheedling at the medic who was in the process of taking stock of the supplies she'd been hoarding. Sam looked up, Eugene sitting across from her and studiously avoiding the conversation. "You need to use that damn thing before it's no good! I worked really hard to get that for you! And you need a break."

"I don't feel like going, nurse," Sam growled, eyes darting back down to the bandages she was carefully rolling to be as small as possible. "So leave me alone about it."

"Is it because you don't want to go, or you don't want to go _alone_?"

"Subtle!" Malarkey called from across the barn they were housed in. Luz, Babe, Joe Toye, Penkala and Malarkey were playing some sort of game that involved cards and gambling; all Sam knew was that she was steering clear of it because she was terrible at all forms of card games and was not in the mood to bet her chocolate bars and lose. "Just give it up, Skip! She ain't gonna use it."

Muck sighed dramatically, before slumping forward, using Sam as a hand rest. He found it hugely entertaining when she squeaked indignantly and tried to push him off of her. He dug around in one of his pockets, before finding and flourishing a small piece of paper. "Fine, fine, fine. What if I told you I got the good Doc here one as well? So you guys could go _together_?"

Muck liked to think of himself as the best friend anyone had _ever_ had, especially these two idiots. If he had to endure one more doe-eyed look from the Cajun medic, he was going to hurl. And Sam was the mayor of Oblivious town, ore thick-headed than he'd given her credit for. They'd been skirting around each other too long; he hoped going go Paris together would settle something between the two.

Eugene froze, finally lifting his eyes to gaze curiously at Muck. "Why the hell would you do that?" he demanded. "And what makes you think she'd wanna go with _me_?"

"Done."

Both men blinked simultaneously as a smirking Sam reached up and plucked the paper from Skip's limp fingers. "Wait, what?" he demanded, standing up straight and frowning down at her. Sam shrugged innocently.

"Gene needs a vacation from this as much, if not more, than anyone here. And since I know him, and I know he can't relax for the life of him, I will accompany him on his excursion and force him to have a good time for once. Besides, he's better company than you, nurse." At Muck's indignant squawk, Sam shrugged. "He doesn't use me as a pillow all the time, for one. Or an arm rest." She scowled pointedly at him, and he scowled back, before he threw his arms up in surrender.

"Ugh, damn it. Fine!"

"Language."

"Not how you thought it would work out, huh?" Babe quipped from his spot with the other men. The rest laughed as the red head grinned at his very put out friend. "What, did you think she'd say _no_?"

"Well, sorta." No, he _knew_ she'd want to go with Gene, but he had to make it look good.

Sam rolled her eyes. "You are incorrigible. Now shoo. Gene and I have inventory to do and then I am going to march him out of here so he can pack to go to Paris."

"You guys are horrible."

"I'm horrible and you love me for it," Sam shot back, earning a growl from Skip as he stomped over to join his laughing friends at their makeshift card table. Sam watched him go, before she turned back to Gene, holding out the little piece of paper for him to take. When he simply stared at her, not making a move to reach for the paper, Sam's grin melted into a frown. "Um…Gene? You can take the paper you know. It won't bite."

Eugene gave himself a small shake, and then reached up haltingly to take the pass, staring down at it as though it held the answers to many of life's questions. "Why…" he began in a low voice, careful to keep it down, lest the other men overhear. "Why would you wanna go with _me_ and not Muck? I ain't any different."

Sam stared at him blandly. "Gene, really? You two are worlds apart. You have completely opposite personalities, and…" She shrugged, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Look, you need a little time off. If you don't want to spend it with me, I'm completely okay with that. But one way or another, you need to relax and rest a little. Who knows what could happen? And you deserve it, you know? You work so hard and you're always running around and helping others. Take a little time and think about _yourself_." She shot him a stern look. "Don't make me force you to go, 'cuz I will."

Eugene felt a smile creeping onto his face. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she cared about him. A lot. That made his heart flutter in a way that was unexpected, and he quickly ducked his head to hid the faint blush coloring his own cheeks. "All right then, _cher_. Ya ain't gotta tell me twice. But Sam…" He looked back up at her, waiting until he had her gaze before continuing. "I _do_ wanna spend time with you. I'd rather you and I spent the three days together than apart. I can at least keep a better eye on you if we do, and maybe I'd rest easier too, knowin' you weren't gettin' into any trouble."

Sam sucked in a breath, but nodded, feeling something light and warm bubbling up in her chest. When Eugene smiled like that, it made her stomach do little somersaults. "Okay, Gene. You've got yourself a deal."


	8. This Time

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews! I appreciate them all immensely. I want to say we're halfway done with the story, but we aren't. And I keep adding more and more. I actually have this story all finished with a pretty good ending, but I will probably add a few epilogues, oneshot things to the end. Yes, there is fluff here. Yes, be warned, it's so horribly sweet and I cringe when I read it. Ugh. I hate and love these two. Also, the titles of the chapters are song titles by a particular artist; each one was picked to go along with the chapter.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _How did it happen that their lips came together? How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds, that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees on the quivering summit of the hill? A kiss, and all was said." -Victor Hugo_ _  
_

 **Chapter 8: This Time**

Sam didn't know why she felt so nervous. It was only Eugene, after all.

The two of them had packed, ignored Muck's whining and the other men's good natured ribbing, and got on the next train to Paris. Once there, they'd checked into rooms in the same hotel, right next to one another (a fact that made Sam hum thoughtfully to herself in embarrassment) and then proceeded to get settled in. Both of them had decided to go out and explore the city, eager to see what Paris had to offer. With Gene's ability to speak French, it would make navigating a whole lot easier.

Currently, however, Sam was facing a bit of a conundrum. Eugene was going to wear his dress uniform, as it was only appropriate they actually look _presentable_ when traversing the city (and everyone else was doing it, after all) but Sam was sorely lacking in that department. She had put in for a dress uniform when they'd gotten back to France (her old one was still in England) but hadn't yet received it, so she had nothing to wear that didn't make her look like some scruffy, grungy soldier.

Biting her lip, Sam debated on what to do; she could just go out in her ODs, but then she'd make her company look bad. Or she could…The second option made her stomach hurt, but it was all she had right now. She tentatively headed for the phone, reaching down and dialing the front desk. A chirpy voice with a heavy French accent answered almost immediately.

"'Allo?"

"Uh, yes, hi. This is Sam Branigan in room 105. I need a favor…Do you think there is anyone that can possibly help me?"

When Sam explained to the woman what was going on, the lady seemed confused, but still relatively sympathetic and willing to help. It was no less than forty-five minutes later that a knock on the door signaled the arrival of her package, and Sam took it gratefully from the woman on the other side, tipping her nicely and shutting the door tight behind her.

Sam placed the package on her bed, staring balefully down at it for a few minutes. She'd sworn to herself after nursing school that she'd never wear one again, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She didn't want to embarrass Eugene, _or_ her company. And she had to admit, something about trying to look nice and spend time with Gene while doing so sounded very appealing, a fact that shocked her enough to make her hesitate.

Sam shook her head; ugh, she was getting to sound a lot like Lizzie. Still, she had to admit…maybe a small part of her just wanted to look pretty for Eugene. Maybe a small part of her wanted him to see her as a girl, instead of a medic, or a solider.

Taking a deep breath, Sam opened the package and prepared to 'get girly' on purpose for the first time in a long, long time.

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Eugene adjusted the hat on his head one last time, taking a deep breath as he stared at his reflection. _Relax_ , he reminded himself. _We're just going to explore Paris. Nothing fancy, nothing out of the ordinary. I've spent months with Sam before this; it's not anything new._ Gene gulped. _We're just friends. We're going to stay 'just friends.' Can't be anything more than that._

Finally satisfied that he looked all right, Gene stepped out of his room, and crossed to the side to knock on Sam's door. There was the sound of muffled cursing (which concerned him because Sam never cursed unless something was really wrong) before the door cracked open just a little and he was met with the wide-eyed stare of his fellow medic. "Um…Sam? Ya'll right, _cher_?"

"Ah, well…yes…" she managed, and Gene's brows furrowed at her unsure tone; he'd never heard her sound anything but certain of herself, so this was new. "Look…Gene…don't laugh, okay?"

"Laugh at _what_?" When Sam only raised an eyebrow, Eugene complied. "All right; I promise I will not laugh. Now tell me what's goin' on." He saw Sam take a deep breath before the door swung open, and she stood in front of him, head down and eyes glued to the floor.

Gene felt his breath catch in his throat. Sam was standing in the doorway, looking incredibly uncomfortable in an olive green button down dress. She was wearing dainty black flats, and her pale skin and red hair stood out in stark contrast to the dark of her dress; she wore her dress uniform hat, the one Lizzie had stuffed in her bag back in Aldbourne and the only piece of her dress uniform she actually had at present. He tried to tear his eyes away from her, but he was having a hard time remembering what he was supposed to do in situations like these. _Just friends_ , he reminded himself. _Fuck. That's gonna be hard._

"Um…Gene?"

Sam's tentative voice snapped him out of his stupor, and he blinked hard as he stared at her. "You look…"

"I look stupid," she finished, scowling like the Sam he knew so well.

"No, you don't," he protested. "You look… _beautiful_ , _cher_. You really do." There. He'd said it out loud; he'd finally voiced the thought that had been plaguing him since the day he saw her smile at him as Hoobler helped her out of that jeep.

Sam's face immediately flushed, and Gene couldn't help but think it was rather fetching. He cleared his throat, a smile on his face as he turned and offered her his arm _. We're just friends,_ he chanted in his head. _Just friends, just friends._ "Really, Sam. You look amazing. Don't be ashamed of it." He knew she was uncomfortable, knew how much she hated dresses and being girly or feminine; so much so, that she dressed as a man. But here she was, making a real effort to be 'girly' and seemingly just for _him_. He couldn't help but think that, while the dress suited her, he would rather have her in her scruffy ODs any day.

Sam tentatively reached out and wrapped her hand around his arm. "I don't…I don't like dressing this way," she admitted quietly, dress swishing around her legs as they started walking towards the stairs. "It makes me uncomfortable. Before I joined the nursing corps, I never wore dresses, except…well, except on the day my daddy died."

Eugene gave a small start as they walked down the stairs. "Yo' daddy passed away?" he asked quietly. "I'm so sorry, Sam." He reached over, hesitantly wrapping his fingers around the hand that was holding onto his arm. Sam allowed him to do it, which he took as a good sign.

"Yeah," Sam continued, her face more nostalgic than sad. "He was a fighter; Irish up until the very end. He had a heart attack working on the farm; I think he just pushed himself to hard. It was only a few months after I joined the nursing corps. I came home to see him, and he was…he wasn't himself. He was in bed, quiet. Daddy always seemed larger than life, but when I saw him there…He looked so small and frail. He passed away a few days later. Ma was devastated, but she's always been strong. It's the Branigan way, I guess. She encouraged me to go back to the corps, to finish what I started, and to follow my heart. And then I ended up in England." She shrugged, offering him a halting smile. "And the rest is history."

"It sho is, isn't it?"

They strolled through the lobby of the hotel, and Sam stuck like glue to Eugene's side, uncomfortable with the looks she was getting. She didn't belong in a dress; her short hair and her ungainly, man-like walk, made it difficult to feel like a lady. "Relax," Sam heard Eugene whisper, and she looked up to see his face smiling down at her. "Just ignore everything else. Today, it's just you an' me, and we're gonna explore Paris and see everythin' we can."

Sam felt a watery smile wind its way onto her face, and something inside of her melted a little. Eugene was, she would admit, her best friend, besides Lizzie. His words warmed her, made her feel less uncomfortable. "Right," she heard herself tell him, fingers tightening on the cloth of his uniform as they walked through the doors and out onto the Paris streets. "Just you and me."

888888

Eugene and Sam spent the day seeing the sights, strolling through the streets of Paris together. The air between them was comfortable, companionable, and Sam couldn't remember when she'd had a better time, especially with a man. Despite the dress and how uncomfortable she felt, she didn't feel uncomfortable with Gene; he was kind, and thoughtful, and she wondered why she'd never seen it before. She'd always thought of him as a fellow medic, a soldier, a friend, but now…

Sam wasn't sure what she saw him as, but she doubted it would ever be the same.

For his part, Eugene was happy just to spend time with Sam without the interruption of war or other men (specifically Muck, though he could ironically thank him for the trip to Paris). Sam, he discovered, was more than just a tough, strong woman; she was considerate, and sweet, and she actually seemed to enjoy spending time with him, if the smiles she was gracing him with were any indication. He was proud to have her walking beside him, and grateful that she was oblivious to the stares she was receiving as she bounced along at his arm, pointing out landmarks or interesting places she wanted to go. She'd been so stiff and uncomfortable for the first hour, but as her excitement grew and their adventure continued, she became more like the Sam he was used to, forgetting about the way she was dressed and trying harder to enjoy their sight-seeing.

They sat now on the edge of the Seine river, and the sun was almost ready to begin setting. Sam was seated on the bench beside him, a bag of bread crumbs they'd bought from a local vendor on her lap. She was sprinkling the crumbs on the ground, the pigeons and doves cooing quietly as they snapped up the offered treats. Every time she smiled or giggled, Eugene couldn't help but stare; he'd never seen this side of her, had never seen the woman she was before the war. He was sure she'd have been wearing pants if she could, but seeing her sitting beside him, wearing the gren dress and looking at peace with the world with the Parisian sky behind her, was a memory he'd keep with him until the day he died.

"This was nice."

Sam's quiet voice startled Gene, and he tilted his head at her, a smile on his face. "It sho was. And we've got two more days here; reckon we can see the rest of the sights tomorrow. We should be heading back soon, dontcha think?" In truth, he didn't want to go back to the hotel; he wasn't sure he wanted this day to end quite yet.

Sam bit her lip, tossing some more bread crumbs to the pigeons at her feet and shifting awkwardly in her dress; it was hard to sit properly in the stupid thing, and she was constantly concerned that it would blow up and give everyone a show every time a gust of wind came by. She supposed, though, that wearing it was worth the look Eugene had given her when he'd offered her his arm, and the sneaky glances he kept shooting her way as they explored. Every time he looked at her, she got a giddy little feeling in her stomach that made her want to dance. It was so unfamiliar, so foreign and new, and she didn't know what it was or how to label it. She just knew that she liked it, and she wanted to see him smile at her the way he did again and again.

Flinging the last of the crumbs to the birds, Sam stood and dusted herself of, tossing the empty bag in a nearby trash bin and returning to Eugene's side. He gallantly offered her his arm again, something he'd done throughout the day that made her heart go staccato. "All right, I'm ready to head back," she admitted quietly, and felt the familiar tug on her arm as Gene started walking. She easily kept up with his meandering strides, having learned by then just how to hold her own in keeping up with the men.

"What say we stop for some dinner and then head back?" Gene suggested, and when he smiled down at her, Sam could only blink owlishly at him, her mind frozen for the briefest of moments before she nodded dumbly. Gene chuckled, guiding her along the streets that were slowly darkening as the sun began to dip down below the horizon. All round them, lamps were being lit, the intricate beauty of Paris that had dubbed it "the City of Lights" breathing life into the quiet streets and nearly taking Sam's breath away.

"Gene," she ventured after they had walked for some time in silence. "I…" She wanted to tell him how much fun she'd had, how he'd made her feel pretty for the first time in her life. How his looks and glances made her feel like the only woman in the world, and that she was worth _something_ to someone. But it felt like too much; it felt like maybe she should keep those feelings to herself. The sentiment caught in her throat and she only managed a hasty: "Thank you for spending time with me," before she ducked her head shyly and let him lead her along.

Gene was staring down at the top of her hat, sensing that there had been something else she was going to say. But she had held back, and now he was curious. He wanted to know; he wanted her to be comfortable enough to tell him anything, and this was no different.

He pulled to a halt, gently tugging Sam until she was stopped in front of him. "Sam," he began uncertainly. "If there's something you wanna say, then say it. I don't mind. We're friends, ain't we? I wanna know what's swirlin' round in that head o' yers. Don't be afraid to tell me."

Sam felt warmth seep into her chest, and a smile wound its way onto her lips as she gazed up at him. "Oh…Well…I just wanted to say thank you, Gene. For-for always being there, even when you didn't have to. For takin' care of me, even when I didn't want it. And for…well, for all of this." She gestured to the streets around them. "If you'd have told me I'd be strolling through Paris in a dress and hangin' on the arm of a man two weeks ago, I'd have socked you in your lyin' mouth. But now…To be honest, Gene, this has been one of the best days I've had in a long, long time. Thank you for that."

Eugene could sense the shift in the atmosphere; something had changed— _was_ changing—between the two of them. He stared down at her, brows furrowed as he soaked up her words and came to terms with the way his heart swelled and felt like it was about to burst with every syllable she uttered. He didn't want to admit it, but maybe he was falling for Sam. Hell, maybe he had _already_ fallen for her. All of his jumbled up, mixed up feelings suddenly made sense, and he gripped her hands in his, fingers rubbing absentminded circles on the back of her knuckles.

Around them, soldiers and civilians milled about, ignoring the couple who stood just to the edge of the sidewalk. All the noise and the hustle and bustle of Paris faded away, and right now, for Gene, there was only Sam. No war, no soldiers, no cry of 'medic!' Just the two of them.

He felt himself leaning forward, watched her lick her lips nervously as she slowly did the same, and they started to close the distance between them. _But we can't get too close_ , he thought, watching her wide blue eyes slowly flutter shut as he neared her. _We're just friends. I can't let anything happen to her. I can't lose her. We're friends…we're…friends-_ But still, he was leaning towards her, his body on autopilot despite his mind's protest.

A very loud and pointed throat clearing made the two medics startle and break apart, and Eugene silently cursed whomever had the gall to interrupt them. He whirled, only to come face to face with two men in similar dress uniforms, cheeky smiles on their faces. He felt Sam stiffen beside him, and her hand tighten on his as the two men surged forward and, as one, tore her away from his side in a group bear hug.

"Ugh, God _damn_ it Helman! Seda! You two let me go now before I knock your dang blocks off!" she cried, flailing in the middle of the two men angrily. Eugene could only stare, completely confused about what was going on and who the two men were.

"We thought it was you, sarge! Ha, imagine this!" one of the men started, and Sam thumped him hard on the shoulder as he scooted back, holding her at arm's length. "You're in a dress! Guess you ain't playin' soldier no more, huh?"

"So help me, Lew, I will skin you," Sam threatened, but she looked more like an angry kitten squished between the two soldiers than the hellish wildcat Gene was used to seeing. "Let me go."

"Uh…What's goin' on?" Gene queried, wondering if he should save his fellow medic from the overenthusiastic greeting. As soon as he spoke, however, he immediately regretted it, as both of the men turned their steely eyes towards him. Gene tried not to flinch, but he admitted that he stood a little bit straighter then.

"Who's this?" the one who Gene guessed was Seda (last name, maybe?) demanded, one hand still resting on Sam's shoulder as he pulled away slightly. Gene wanted to reach out and smack that hand off of her, but resisted the urge.

"This is Eugene Roe," Sam introduced, finally gasping her way out of their grasp and latching onto Gene's arm. He immediately reached out to steady her, missing the look the two men shot one another over Sam's head. "He's my fellow medic in Easy Company. Gene, this is Sidney Seda and Lewis Helman; they're medics from the 326th. I trained with them for a few days when we were in England. They, uh…they missed me, apparently. What are you guys doing here, anyway? I didn't think I'd see either of you again."

"Well, we get leave the same as you," Sidney hedged, his gaze still on Gene as though he didn't quite trust him. "So we came to Paris to have some fun; ya know, find some dames, see some sights. That sorta thing."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Of course."

"And you?" Lew asked, his smile widening into a grin that looked like the cat that caught the canary. "What are you doing here? And looking all gussied up, no less. You didn't strike me as the dress wearin' type." His eyes darted to Eugene. "Is it because you wanted to look nice for your fella? Come on, Sam, tell the truth. He's not _just_ a fellow medic, is he?"

Sam's cheeks instantly flamed with embarrassment; she was embarrassed at the good natured teasing, but also at how accurate that damn statement was. "S-shut up, Lew!" she snapped, swiping at him. He easily dodged, and she growled under her breath. She could feel Eugene watching her, the faint traces of a smile on his face.

"Well," Sidney began, leaning forward and pulling Sam away from Eugene, much to the Cajun's annoyance. "Since we're all here, what say we get dinner together, Red. The three of us?" He shot Eugene a look, noting the color in his cheeks and the way his brows had drawn down in an angry scowl. "Oh, right. You can come too, Roe. The more the merrier, after all."

Sam looked between the two men, sensing the hostility as sparks flew from their eyes. "Um…Heh, yeah, okay." It would be best to try and keep both parties from jumping one another, at least for now. She wouldn't want to try to explain to Winters why Eugene showed up with a black eye; he'd probably think _she_ did it. "Come on, let's get some dinner."

888

Dinner was tense, to say the least.

Sam spent most of it looking between Sidney and Eugene. Lew seemed content to chatter away to her about trivial things: how the replacements were doing, what they'd done in Holland, who his favorite singer was. Sam only half listened as she ate, eyes darting back and forth as she waited for something to happen.

When they were finally finished, she breathed a long sigh of relief. It was Lew and Sidney's last day in Paris, so she knew she wouldn't run into them again. It wasn't as if she wasn't happy to see them; she was. She really liked them. But they put Eugene on edge, and it seemed like Sidney was going out of his way to be an asshole with the way he was glaring at Gene and giving him a hard time.

Dinner done, the four of them stood from their table in the small Parisian restaurant, Sidney and Lew taking care of the bill. "This one is on us, Red," Sidney chirped, stopping her when she reached for her money. "I mean, who knows when the next time we'll see one another will be? Might as well let us do somethin' nice for ya."

Sam felt oddly touched, and as they exited the restaurant, she impulsively leaned over to hug a very startled Sidney. "Geeze, you're both idiots," she muttered. "But thank you. I'm really glad you're okay, you know. I thought about you; I wondered if you'd be all right."

"Same for us," Lew replied, an easy smile creasing his face. "We really were worried about what would happen to you. But here you are, safe and sound and in one piece." He offered Sam his arm, and she quite easily took it, walking along beside him as they strolled back to her and Gene's hotel. Lew and Sidney had insisted on walking them at least that far, before they headed back to their own hotel for a good night's rest.

As Sam and Lew walked on ahead, Sidney hung back with Eugene, hands shoved into his pockets as he meandered alongside the Cajun medic. "Soooo," he drawled, side-eyeing the pale skinned Easy Company soldier. "You and Sam a thing, I take it?"

Eugene didn't think it was any of this man's business. "Maybe," he retorted, keeping his tone light and clipped.

"Aw, come on buddy. Sorry about bein' such an ass earlier. I just needed to get the measure of ya. I mean, from the way Sam looked when she showed up at our training camp, I don't think she's someone who wears a dress just for any old occasion. You must be something special if she was willing to get all dolled up for you." He gave Gene a narrow-eyed stare, raising one brow. "I'm hoping that she's as special to you as you are to her?"

When Gene didn't respond, Sidney slowed his steps. "Look. I ain't stupid, contrary to what some people might think, and I'm not blind. I can see you care for her, and I can definitely see she cares for you. I probably haven't known her as long as you have, but she's a nice girl, and someone who puts up that many defensive walls _has_ to have a reason for it, so I imagine she wouldn't do well if you were toying with her. So I guess all I can say is that…if you hurt her, Eugene Roe, then there will be no place on earth you can hide from me. I will hunt you down and hurt you _back_. Understand?"

"I don't _plan_ on hurting her," Gene replied quietly, and Sidney was surprised at the conviction he heard in the other medic's voice. He was under the impression that they'd only been with Sam for three days, but he could attest to how easily she endeared herself to some, despite her sometimes knee-jerk response of punching people who pissed her off. "Not now. Not ever. She means too much to me to ever let anything bad happen to her."

"Now, Eugene, this is a war. And you can't go makin' promises you can't keep. How do you know something bad won't happen to her out in the field? She's just as much as medic as you or me or even Lew. She might not survive the war, ya know."

"She's _gonna_ survive." Sidney stopped walking, staring at Gene, who was glaring at him with such rage that the 326th medic was feeling somewhat hesitant to continue the conversation. "And I intend to make sure o' that. Nothin' will happen, long as she's with Easy."

"I don't know, Eugene. You can't be sure. What happens if she gets hurt?"

" _I'll_ be there."

"And what happens if _you're_ the one who hurts her?"

Eugene didn't have an answer for that one.

88888

Lew and Sidney dropped Eugene and Sam off at their hotel, hugging the young woman goodbye and promising to write to one another. Sam watched them go, feeling strangely empty without their boisterous presence, before she turned back to Eugene. She offered him a tentative smile, slightly put off by the thoughtful look on his face. When she raised an eyebrow, Gene shook his head, offering her his arm again as they walked into the hotel, heading up the stairs and to their rooms.

"Thanks for putting up with them, Gene," Sam started as they reached their floor. "I know they were a hassle. And I'm sorry they gave you a hard time. They're nice and they mean well."

Gene shrugged. "Eh, they're all right, those too. They was just lookin' after you. Can't blame 'em for doin' that, can I?" As they stopped just outside of their rooms, Gene tugged Sam to stand in front of him, hands holding tightly to hers. "You're worth protectin', I think."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes darting up to his and realizing that the moment that had been ruined earlier in the day had returned. Gene was looming over her, leaning closer as she stared, wide-eyed.

Gene could see Sam's hesitance, her indecision and confusion, and despite his better judgement, he gently reached out to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Sam squeaked, but didn't protest, and he carefully lifted his hand to tilt her chin up before leaning down and capturing her lips with his. His mind railed at him to stop, that he was making a mistake, but the heat of the moment had overwhelmed him, and he couldn't stop now.

Sam didn't know what being kissed would feel like, but she hadn't expected this. Gene's lips on hers were soft, tentative, almost questioning what they were doing. The warmth that flooded her stomach and made her heart flutter wasn't as foreign as before, but it was a hundred times more intense than ever. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his uniform, unsure of what else to do with themselves. Gene's arm tightened and the kiss deepened.

He couldn't quite believe he was kissing her, and yet here they were. Something inside of Gene was leaping for joy, and another, smaller part of him was saying that they shouldn't be doing this. They were soldiers, medics, comrades, and they could get in a whole heap of trouble for this. Still, he couldn't deny that it felt right. The longer they kissed, the more his world seemed to fall into place. But the longer they kissed, the _louder_ that little voice that said he shouldn't be doing this was getting.

Gene broke away with a huff, uncurling his arm from around Sam's waist. She stared up at him in a daze, lips and cheeks flushed from the kiss and looking faintly disoriented. While that made him feel somewhat proud of himself, he still regretted what he'd done. It would change everything, and he couldn't let that happen; he _had_ to protect Sam. If anyone found out about this, she'd be booted out of Easy, and while that would mean she was safer, he knew she'd be angry and hurt, and he would be left alone. The entire idea of women in combat could be thrown into question, and he knew she'd never forgive herself for that. She'd hate him, and he'd never forgive himself for being the cause of it all. He'd be left alone.

 _Without_ her.

He wouldn't let that happen.

Clearing his throat, Gene stepped away, ignoring the flash of pain and confusion on Sam's face, and patted her hand awkwardly. _This is for the best,_ he told himself over and over. They had to remain friends, had to keep a distance. If they stayed friends, she'd be safe. If they were anything else… _I can't lose her. But…why does it feel like I should stay?_ The look in her eyes was almost enough to make his resolve crumble.

"Uh, g'night, Sam. Sweet dreams." Before he could change his mind, he turned and beat a hasty exit to his room, shutting the door behind him before she could so much as blink in protest.

Outside, Sam stood dumbly in the hall, lips still tingling from the kiss, one hand raised as if to stop Gene from leaving. What the…what the _hell_ had just happened? One second, they were pressed against one another, sharing an intimate moment, and the next, he was running from her as if she'd slapped him. She'd never had a relationship before, never been with a man, and hell, she'd never even been _kissed_ , but she was sure that wasn't how that sort of thing was supposed to go.

Why had Gene run off so quickly? Did she do something wrong? They'd had an amazing day together, probably one of the best she'd ever had. They'd spent the time talking, laughing, enjoying each other's company. They had almost kissed, before Sidney and Lew had interrupted them. And then just now, they _had_ kissed! So what the hell was his problem?

 _Was it me?_ she thought dully. _Am I the problem? Is it because he'd rather have a_ real _woman than some scruffy little soldier wannabe?_

Sam stared silently at Eugene's door, willing him to return to her and explain what was going on. But when minutes ticked by and nothing happened, she turned and stormed back to her room, slamming the door shut angrily. She ripped her dress and hat off, throwing them to the floor in a furious heap, and marched to the bathroom before kicking off her shoes. Maybe taking a nice long bath would help her make sense of some of this, though she doubted it. Her anger and her frustration and her confusion were overwhelming, and she felt her chest constrict with a feeling she was familiar with, something she'd been most of her life before she'd met Lizzie and Easy Company: _loneliness_.

Damn him. She never should have trusted him. He was just like every other man. All they did was ruin things.

Even as Sam turned the water on and sank into the warmth of the tub, she couldn't hide the tears that fell down her cheeks, and silently hated herself and Eugene because of them.

88888

The next morning when Gene knocked on her door, Sam didn't answer.

Worried, he knocked again and again, but she still refused to open the door. "Sam," he called. "Sam, come on. Open up. Can we talk, please?"

There was a muffled response from behind the closed door, and Gene leaned closer to try to hear what it was. "Sam, jus' open up. We gotta talk about last night." There was more muffled grumbling from behind the door, and Gene knocked again. "What was that, Sam? I can't hear ya."

The door suddenly swung inward as it was yanked open, and Sam stood in it, once more dressed in her ODs and glaring up at him fiercely. "I said _fuck off_ asshole!" she shouted, before the door was unceremoniously closed on his face.

Gene blinked.

That was…extreme. But he supposed he deserved that. He realized what an ass he'd been only moments after closing the door of his room, but he was too afraid to go back out and face her again. He should have explained to her what was going on in his head rather than just running away. She probably thought he hated her, or that something was wrong with her because of how quickly he'd made his escape. He realized that the whole 'just friends' thing was a lost cause the second her lips had touched his, but he was still worried, still afraid of what might happen if they threw caution to the wind. Now he wanted nothing more than to apologize, and at least try and explain what he was thinking.

"Please, Sam," he muttered, knuckles drumming on the door. "I just want to talk. I need to apologize. I-"

The door opened again and this time, Sam's fist flew out and grabbed him by the collar of his dress uniform. She dragged him inside with a surprising amount of strength (Jesus Christ, she could be scary when she wanted to be) and slammed the door behind him. "Okay, Roe," she snarled fiercely, hands on her hips as Gene stood in front of her, silently fearing for his life. " _Explain_ to me. _Apologize_ to me. Let's hear it so I can get on with my day. Without _you_."

That cut Eugene deep, but he tried not to let it show. "Look," he began, running his fingers through his hair nervously. "I am _so_ sorry about last night. I-I didn't mean ta hurt you. It's just-"

"You didn't _mean_ it, huh?" Sam demanded, and Gene stiffened at her tone. "You _kissed_ me, Eugene. My first kiss. _Ever_. And then you _ran away_. How the hell was I supposed to take that? What was I supposed to think? How could I _not_ be hurt by that?"

"I know, an' I'm so sorry." Gene took a chance and gently grabbed Sam's upper arms to hold her still, ignoring the way she flinched at his touch. "I-I didn't know that was your first kiss, honest. And I'm sorry I ruined it. I jus' wanted to…protect ya, Sam. Look, you an' I…That's somethin' I been thinkin' about a lot."

Sam blinked, suddenly deflating. "Wait… _what_?"

Gene nodded resolutely; no turning back now. "I been thinkin' bout it for a while now. An' I _like_ ya, Sam. I care about you, a _lot_. But if anyone ever found out 'bout you an' I, then we could get into big trouble. An' you'd be sent back to England. You wouldn't be able to stay with Easy. And the women medic thing you were so happy about…that could all be _ruined_. There's rules, regulations. We can't just break 'em without consequences. Even if…"

"Even if…?"

"Even if I'd _really_ like ta. Look…I don' know what's gonna happen, or where this war will take us, but…when it's all over…maybe you could…come back to visit Louisiana? An' if you like it…you could always _stay_." Gene felt a blush creep up into his cheeks as Sam stared up at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. She seemed too stunned to speak, and he silently willed her to respond, feeling more and more embarrassed by his admission. "Sam…?"

He was startled by her sudden giggling as she clutched her stomach and bent over, slipping from his grasp as she was overwhelmed by her laughter. His brows furrowed; was she laughing at his idea? Did she think he was funny? _I'm just a joke, aren't I? I guess I deserve this after the way I handled last night._ "I'll just…leave ya to your day, then," he muttered, feeling like a real heel as he turned to go.

Sam's hand on his arm stopped him, and he turned to look down at her, seeing a smile so big that it threatened to break her face in two. "Oh, Gene, you're an idiot. _Really_. You ran away because of all _that_? Because you wanted to keep me safe? You do know that I can look after myself, right? I appreciate the thought, but I don't give a shit what other people think. You should have just told me what you were worried about; I understand how to be discreet. I know how to keep secrets. And I'd never let _anyone_ take me away from Easy, or…away from you. Even _if_ someone found out about us, it would never stop…"

Gene waited patiently for her to finish, seeing her cheeks light up with a blush of her own as she studiously stared at her boots, suddenly shy. Jesus, she never imagined she'd have a conversation like this with a man. Not in a million years. "…Never stop the way I feel about you. And you know, I always _did_ miss Louisiana. I don't think a visit would hurt. And hey, maybe I'll like it so much, I _will_ stick around permanently."

Eugene felt a smile that could rival Sam's creep onto his face, reaching out to take her hands. "If that's the case, then maybe we can give last night a second try. I promise I won' run away on ya this time."

Sam laughed softly, allowed Eugene to press his forehead against her own and enjoying his smile. "Deal."

8888

The next two days had passed in a blur.

Eugene and Sam had thrown their worries to the wind; Sam's rationale was that they weren't anywhere near anyone in their company, so no one would find out about anything they did. Gene agreed, and they spent the two days exploring, chatting, enjoying good food and each other's company. By the end of their 3-day leave, both felt more comfortable with one another than ever before, and had learned more about each other's lives through a couple of late night talks and long sessions at a local café.

Sam learned that Gene's parents were Ed and Maud, that he was half Cajun and spoke French (something she knew), that he'd worked on an oil rig, and that he lived near Morgan City, where his family had moved after the destruction of their original home. She also learned that he had a particular fondness for his mother's gumbo, he loved to dance, his favorite place to visit was New Orleans and that his grandmother was a traiteur (a faith healer, he'd explained). He'd confessed to her that he'd never really wanted to be a medic, but had been picked out of a lineup and chosen to save lives instead of take them. Secretly, he'd informed her, he wanted to do something in construction. He was good with his hands, and he wouldn't dream of going into anything medical because he'd had enough blood and guts to last him a life time. But he knew he wanted to build the things he dreamed of and to help _others_ build their dreams. He didn't know exactly what he'd do, he just knew he wanted to do something he loved and was good at.

Eugene had learned that Sam's family had a farm in New Jersey that her mother, Martha, ran on her own since the passing of her father. He learned that Sam was an only child, and that after she'd moved away from Bayou Chene, her father and mother had basically forced her to stay in school, ensuring that she got a good education. She'd told him that she'd always been more comfortable in pants, and she wasn't lying; her mother never forced her to do anything she wasn't comfortable with, but had made her promise, once they moved, to stop getting into fights all the time. She kept her promise, for the most part, but with a little secret help from her father, she'd actually learned how to defend herself and fight well enough that her mother never suspected a thing. He learned that Sam loved the cows on her farm, and that she'd always been too busy with school and working on the farm to really make friends, and that her first _real_ friend had been Elizabeth Nixon, whom she'd met in the nursing corps. He learned that she had risen to the rank of sergeant by diligently studying any and all medical texts she could get her hands on, and being a studious, hard-working nurse. She also confided that she wanted to become a doctor after the war was over, because it was what she did best.

They agreed to keep anything between them secret; their promise was that they would wait out the war, see what happened at the end, and then if they made it through together, they'd start all over as civilians and explore their feelings for one another without the worry of being found out or separated. It didn't mean the occasional hug, or held hand was out of the question, but they decided that it would be best if they kept everything to themselves, and swore to one another that they'd never breathe a word of their trip to Paris to anyone until the war was said and done and all through.

Eugene couldn't quite believe what their relationship had turned into. It had all started with her socking him in the mouth as a kid, and now here they were. When he'd first seen her in England, he never would have imagined feeling anything for her beyond friendship. But she'd wormed her way under his skin and into his thoughts, and now he knew he couldn't give her up easily.

Sam, for her part, was astonished by the fact that Eugene liked her, and she _liked him back_. Her entire life, she'd never imagined she'd fall in love. It seemed like something that the dainty, feminine girls did, not the mud-streaked tomboys. But Eugene accepted her for her, and that was something she admired about him. Her feelings had begun as friendship, and she realized that, even if she didn't quite feel romantic love _completely_ for him, she certainly felt _something_ deep, and it was new and wonderful and she couldn't wait to see where it led. Instead of being scared, like she'd always imagined she'd be, she was eagerly anticipating the end of the war and their promise to one another.

When they arrived back at the barracks where the rest of Easy Company was waiting, they went their separate ways, sharing a secret smile before going to their respective sleeping quarters to unpack. As Sam reached her own billet, she placed her bag on the bed; she was housed with Toye, Babe, Luz, Liebgott and Bull, and was somewhat relieved to see that none of them were in the barracks. She didn't feel like dealing with any exuberant greetings or teasing as she unpacked.

Unzipping her bag, a splash of olive green greeted her and she smiled fondly. It was the first and _only_ dress she'd ever liked, ever felt comfortable wearing, and it was all because of Eugene. She'd seriously contemplated throwing it away, but in the end, she'd kept both it and the shoes she'd worn on their first day together. There were too many memories attached to both.

Unpacking and stowing her things away quickly, she headed out the door and to the "entertainment tent." Avoiding over-enthusiastic greetings were best done in a dark tent where a movie was playing and talking was generally frowned upon. Jogging to the tent (and thanking her lucky stars that no one knew she was back yet) Sam sidled inside and snuck to the front, catching sight of Joe Toye and Lipton and slipping in to sit beside them. "Howdy, boys," she greeted, smiling in the dark.

Joe turned and looked at her, his face set in a scowl at his movie being interrupted, before he saw who it was. "Back already, Sam?" he asked, half-smiling in the dark.

"Welcome back," Lipton greeted, leaning over behind the chairs to pat her shoulder.

Sam responded with a grin, nodding her head, before her eyes went back to Joe. "Yep, just got back a while ago. So what are we watching?"

"I'm John Wayne. The costume department set me up with these great navy whites. Whaddya think?"

The voice of George Luz, literally right behind their chairs, forced Sam to turn around and glance at him. Joe followed suit, his scowl back in place. "Shut up," he hissed, but George only grinned.

"I've seen this movie thirteen times, all right?"

"Well I haven't, so shut up!"

Sam met Luz's eyes, and his grin widened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on her chair. "Hey there, Sammy," he greeted, reaching up to yank on a red curl that was peeking out of her cap. "Have fun in Paris with the doc? You just get back?"

Sam chanced a glance at Joe, noting his scowl, but decided to respond anyway. "Yeah," she whispered. "Just got back. And it was a good time; we got to see all the sights Paris has to offer. I even met some of the guys from the 326th."

"I'll _bet_ you saw the sights," George responded, waggling his eyebrows, and Sam smacked his shoulder.

"Shhhh," Joe hushed, though his tone was significantly kinder when it was George _and_ Sam rather than just George. Sam shrugged, shooing George away from her chair as she leaned back to enjoy the movie.

"Favorite part," George whispered loudly, leaning forward to tap her shoulder. "Gotta penny? Got- _a_ pen-ny? Gotta penny?"

Sam was sure Lipton or Toye were gonna deck him before the movie managed to finish. She heard muffled rumblings near the back as the woman on screen repeated George's words and he grinned, leaning back with a laugh. "George," Sam whispered, grinning. "If you don't shut up, so help them, they are going to turn this movie around and head _straight_ home, mister." George cackled at her joke, but Toye and Lipton continued to look annoyed (although she swore she saw a grin tugging at their lips).

The lights flickered on without warning, the movie suddenly cutting off mid-sentence as booted feet marched through the now brightly lit tent. Men cried out in protest, including Joe and Lipton next to her, and Sam watched curiously, her heart clenching with dread, as two men strode to the front of the tent, demanding silence and attention. She leaned forward in her seat, wondering if those few medical supplies she'd managed to scrounge up would be needed sooner than she anticipated.

"Quiet! Elements of the first and the sixth SS panzer division have broken through in the Ardennes Forest. Now they've overrun the 28th Infantry and elements of the 4th. All officers report to respective HQs, all passes are canceled."

The collective groaning and protests cut off the rest of what the man was trying to say. But what would happen was clear; there would be no mid-March action because they would be moving out _now_. Around her, the rest of the men were standing, some still complaining under their breath or out loud as they strode from the tent. Sam hunched forward, eager to be forgotten, but found that two men had stopped to wait for her. She glanced up at Joe and Luz, both pausing to wait for her to join them.

"Come on, Sam," Joe coaxed, giving her a nudge as he stood beside her. He then held his hand out to Luz. "Got a smoke?"

"Yeah," George responded, handing one over as Sam stood, adjusting her cap on her head. "Sam?" He held out the pack for her to take one, but she shook her head, raising a brow.

"Since when do I smoke?"

"There's always a first time for everything," he admitted, the humor gone from his face but not from his eyes. He slung an arm over her shoulder, keeping her between himself and Toye and guiding her out. They passed a still seated Buck (and Sam noted the look on his face, quietly reminding herself to keep an eye on that. It didn't look normal) and Winters, who nodded at them and shot Sam a half-hearted smile as George and Joe led her out of the tent.

"I guess so," Sam admitted, grabbing George's lighter when he dug it out of his pocket and flicking it on to light Joe's cigarette, anticipating that he'd ask for a light. Her mind immediately went to Gene; she'd need to find him so they could pool their resources and gather what supplies they could. She doubted her meager hoard would be enough to get them through much of anything, especially if it lasted a while, like Holland had. "Always a first."

88888

The trucks rumbled into the night.

Sam sat huddled in one of them, practically latched onto Liebgott, who sat next to her and looked as cold and miserable as she felt. She'd only managed to gather up what few supplies she'd been stockpiling, which honestly wasn't very much. But her main concern was the men around her; very few of them had winter gear, and even fewer had any ammo. She had a feeling that frostbite was going to be a big problem in the coming weeks or months that they were out on the line.

After the movie, Sam had sought out Eugene, who was already with Ralph Spina, inventorying what they had and trying their best to scrounge up more medical supplies, as well as a few winter clothes for themselves and the men. Their search turned up relatively empty; it was too difficult to find what they needed when the supplies just didn't exist. They'd been requested, but they just hadn't arrived on time. Now they knew their only hope of getting through this would be air drops of supplies while they were on the line. Or jeep deliveries.

None of the medics had much in the way of winter gear either, and so, Sam found herself wearing a wool woman's coat and a somewhat worn and ratty old scarf that an old woman in town had given her (after the lady had seen her darting from house to house, she'd kindly offered the garments, moth-bitten and musty as they were, and Sam had accepted gratefully) and her soft, cotton hat. Her hands were bare, and she wished desperately for a pair of gloves as she clutched the lapels of her jacket closed, shivering beside Liebgott and trying to leech some of the little bit of warmth he was offering.

Gene, Ralph and Sam had decided to split up, each medic taking a truck on their own, just in case anything happened along the way; they could never be too careful. So Sam found herself stuffed like a sardine into an uncomfortable truck that felt colder inside than outside.

"Ugh, it's so fucking cold," Joe muttered beside her, and Sam shot him a look, not having the energy to admonish him about his language for once. Skip was sitting just in front of her, and she was using him to keep her legs warm (or as warm as she could get them). He seemed happy enough to act as her blanket, though he looked as cold as Joe did.

"Seriously," Sam muttered, not caring about keeping her distance and only concerned with getting warm. She was used to warmer weather back home, and she absolutely _hated_ the cold. This was going to be torture.

The trucks bounced and jostled the men along, lights shining inside every time they passed an intersection or an officer guiding with a flashlight.

"Guess the blackouts not in effect. Luftwaffe must be asleep," Buck commented, raising his voice to be heard over the loud rumble of the trucks.

"What a difference a day makes, huh, Lieutenant?" Ramirez responded, picking at his fingernails.

"Christ, I miss those C-47s." Sam glanced up at Guarnere, who had been the one to lament the loss of their planes. She had to agree; being on a plane was different than being jostled around in the cold, hard trucks.

"Gotta tail gate jump here," Talbert quipped, and Guarnere nodded with raised eyebrows, looking annoyed.

Babe slouched down in his seat, arms resting on his knees. He was sitting on the bench closest to Sam, and she was glad they were packed together in the tuna can of a truck; Babe was like a damn heater compared to Liebgott. She was practically clinging to his leg at this point, a fact which seemed to amuse him. "I just wanna know where we're goin' and what the hell we're 'sposed tuh do with no ammo," Babe muttered, but was ignored by all but Sam, who was snuggled against his leg and throwing dignity to the wind in favor of sweet, sweet warmth.

She ignored the conversation around her as Babe glanced down, nudging her lightly on the shoulder. "Cold?" he asked, and she nodded, her teeth chattering almost too hard for her to speak.

"Yeah, and y-you're warm. Sorry if I unashamedly use you to keep from f-freezing," she managed, words breaking up here and there as she shivered.

Babe shrugged, looking nonplussed; who was he to complain if a woman wanted to hug him? He looked back up in time to hear one of the replacements introduce himself as Suerth Jr. and quickly asked "You got any ammo Junior?"

"Just what I got with me."

"How 'bout socks, Junior?" Toye demanded. "You got any socks?"

"I got a pair."

"You need four minimum!" Skip instructed, waggling his finger. "Feets, hands, neck, balls, extra socks warm them all!" The rest of the men, minus Sam, had joined in tiredly at the end, and Skip looked amused. "Yeah! We remember that one. But we didn't remember the socks."

"I'd give my goddamn boots for a cigarette," Bill lamented. "Anyone got cigarettes? I bet junior's got plenty of both!"

"What about a hat? Ya got a hat?" Liebgott piped up from beside Sam, and she glanced at him, placing one hand protectively on her head and shooting him a suspicious look. He winked at her, indicating he wouldn't dream of snatching hers. "What about a coat? Ya got a coat?"

"Shut up with the coat, Liebgott. Nobody's got one," Skip chided, just as Suerth admitted that he had cigarettes. Sam rolled her eyes at the 'gimme gimme' hands that shot out, eager for one of Junior's cigarettes.

The trucks finally rumbled to a stop, and Sam was grateful for it. The endless swaying was beginning to make her nauseous, and coupled with the cold, it was almost unbearable. As soon as the tailgate was let down, the men piled out, Sam quickly hopping out and away and heading towards the road they'd be taking to their next position. She stopped to stand beside Babe, eager to leech more of his freakish warmth as Skip and Malarkey paused on her other side.

"Where are we?"

"Sure we ain't in hell. It's too damn cold," Skip replied to Malarkey's question, and Sam agreed wholeheartedly as she practically glued herself to Babe's side. Again, he didn't protest her closeness; it was nice to have another source of body heat so close and so willing to snuggle. The fact that she was a girl was ten more points in her favor, too.

Babe took a drag on his cigarette, when something passed in front of him that made him nearly choke on the smoke he inhaled. "What the fuck?" he muttered, and Sam followed his gaze to see men walking past them. "Jesus Christ."

The men looked like they'd been dragged through hell; their clothes were torn, bloody, muddy and filthy. Many were dressed in bandages over their various wounds, and each looked to be in different stages of shell-shock, staring ahead with wide eyes as they shuffled past.

"Hey, Bill, Don," Babe called, and Malarkey and Guarnere turned from where they were standing behind the truck to see what he wanted. "Come here. Come look at this. Come over here!"

Sam was still watching the men in silent horror; what the hell had happened to all of them? Bill seemed as eager to know as she was, and he stopped one of the men by grabbing his arm, jerking him to a halt and out of his daze. "You're goin' the wrong way. Hey pal. What happened? Where are you going?"

The man stared into the distance with wide eyes. "They came outta nowhere. They slaughtered us; you gotta get out of here," he murmured, his voice sounding so far away.

"We just got here," Babe protested, before reaching for the ammo slung around the man's neck. "Hey, give us your ammo."

All around them, men were doing the same, and despite the cold, Sam decided she should probably give it a shot as well, darting from soldier to soldier and asking for aid kits, morphine, bandages and whatever else they could spare. By the time the bulk of the mass of men had moved on, she'd collected eight more aid kits, and a few more bandages. She'd have to find Ralph and Gene and distribute them among themselves, but for now, she shoved them into her bag, eager to get moving.

She immediately zeroed in on Babe again, sticking close to his side for warmth as the men started moving out, marching along the cold, hard-packed roads towards their position. She would have to find Ralph and Gene later, but for now, she was content to march in the middle of the group of Easy soldiers, strung out along the crossroads, rifles at their sides and ready for whatever they'd face. Sam didn't know what was coming or what waited for them when they got there, but whatever it was, she doubted it would be good.


	9. Girl Right Next to Me

A/N: Thank you so much for all of your reviews and kind words; I appreciate them so much. I've started another short story for The Pacific, which is finished and I will be posting the remaining chapters in the next few days. I'm also adding to 'Universe' which is the modern Soulmate AU for Sam and Gene. I'm also planning a George Luz story, because his sarcastic wit is close to my heart and I am all about it. So be on the lookout. I'd love to hear what people think of the story, so please leave reviews, if so inclined. I appreciate all the ones I get; you guys are perfect~

We've sort of reached the second of what I think will be three-four arcs in this story. As such, it's a new artist/band for the names of the chapters. I hope you enjoy!

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

8888

" _To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering." -Friedrich Nietzsche_ _  
_

 **Chapter 9: Girl Right Next to Me**

It started snowing in earnest as soon as they had dug in a permanent place on the line. Sam didn't ask many questions, and didn't much care about what the higher ups were doing or deciding, but she knew that most of the men were woefully unprepared for this type of weather.

She, Eugene and Ralph spent a majority of the time encouraging men to move, hoping to keep their feet from freezing or from any cases of trench foot from developing. Inevitably, frostbite did get a few, and trench foot claimed some of the men as well, but with their steady care and guidance, they were able to at least instruct the boys on how to avoid any too serious cases.

Currently, Sam was helping Ralph dig his foxhole. She had thought about staying in one with Gene but to be honest, he wasn't all that warm, and she was a sucker for warm people. Babe and Spina radiated heat like a furnace (even if they didn't feel it themselves) and Sam was fairly certain she was going to stick close to the two of them to be a heat leech.

Grunting, she slammed her shovel into the frozen, hard packed earth, muscles trembling but warmer, from the effort of trying to dig the hole. "Jesus, Ralph. Couldn't you have found an already dug foxhole to _share_ with someone?" she grouched, shovel clanging against the ground. She heard Spina chuckle behind her as he too dug his shovel into the dirt.

"Eh, stop belly achin' Sam and dig. You said you wanted to help me out with anything I needed. Well, I need a digger, not a complainer."

Sam grumbled under her breath, but obligingly continued, not pausing when she heard footsteps approaching.

"Spina. Sam. What's happenin?"

"Doc," Spina greeted, stopping and slinging his shovel over his shoulder. "We're diggin' in right along the line."

"Hey Gene. You make it to 3rd battalion?" Sam asked, stabbing her shovel into the dirt and letting it sit as she wiped some freezing sweat from her brow. The problem with working up a sweat in the cold was that it froze and stuck to your skin and clothes and made you even colder than before. Everything felt stiff and uncomfortable, including her muscles. "Whatcha get?"

"I got, uh, I got this." Gene handed Spina an aid kit, digging around in his pack. "And…I got myself a Kraut bandage." This one he handed over to Sam, who looked at it curiously and raised a brow. "Cap'n Winters caught a prisoner near his foxhole. Line's spread so dang thin that they're just wanderin' into our CP. He had that on 'im." Sam shrugged, accepting the explanation with little argument.

Gene and Spina both settled down inside the half dug foxhole, and Sam perched just on the edge beside Ralph, examining the bandage in her hands. Her body was trembling, teeth chattering as the cold soaked back into her sweaty clothes. She normally would've sat closer to Gene, but she was going to be honest again and say that he didn't offer anything in the way of warmth; he was too cold and slender and his smaller build offered a lot less than Spina, who was wearing extra layers and was often far warmer. She shot him a shaky grin when he raised a brow at her, and his answering smile reassured her that he didn't take any offense to her distance. He was well aware of how much she hated the cold; she complained about it every time she visited his foxhole to chat and check on him or when Babe or Ralph weren't available to 'snuggle for warmth,' as she called it. He hated the cold too, but having her near made it a little more bearable, even if he did have to share her from time to time.

"So what, this is it?" Spina demanded.

"Yep, that's all we got."

"Jesus."

Gene pulled a syrette of morphine from his pocket, checking it to be sure it hadn't frozen; the medics all kept their morphine as close to their bodies as possible, even going so far as to stuff plasma under their arms to make sure it didn't freeze solid. It wouldn't do if the little they had was frozen every time they tried to use it. "Ya know, first battalion has pulled outta Foy, heavy casualties."

"So if they're leaving," Sam asked, scooting down into the foxhole to be hip to hip against Ralph, who slung an arm over her shoulder. The cold was beginning to overwhelm her muscles, and the cooling, freezing sweat wasn't helping in the least. Her body had started shivering violently, a common occurrence since the first moment they'd settled into the forest. "Then what are we still doing here?" Spina shrugged, his face indicating that he was wondering the same damn thing.

"We need morphine," Gene muttered, almost to himself. "This is all I got…" He glanced at Spina and Sam. "Either of you got extra scissors?"

"Uh-uh. Just the one."

"No…uh…I lost mine in Holland," Sam admitted sheepishly, thinking back to the day in the barn when Gene had cut her hair. A sneaking suspicion crept over her. "Why? Did you lose yours?"

"I guess so. I can't find 'em anywhere. Musta fallen outta my pocket," Gene grumbled, brows furrowing over his eyes.

Sam rubbed the back of her head, unwilling to tell him that it was probably _her_ fault that he'd lost them. She remembered him cutting her hair with them, but when he'd stormed out after yelling at her about her messed up arm, he'd dropped his scissors in the hay. She doubted he'd ever returned for them, and in the aftermath, she'd been too upset to think about retrieving them. Sam decided that was a little bit of information she'd keep to herself.

"First sergeant Lipton!"

Sam jerked her head up to see Lieutenant Dike headed towards their foxhole, looking incredibly lost, as per usual. Ralph and Gene ignored him, unwilling to deal with their annoying commander.

"What's this?" he demanded, glaring down at the medics. "Three medics in one hole?"

"Yes, sir," Sam replied uncertainly, muscles tensing to get up and vacate the premises. Spina's arm tightened around her shoulder, and she shot him a look, meeting his eyes. They told her that she should stay right where she was, and who gave a good God damn what Dike thought. Sam shrugged, and settled back into the dirt.

"Well what happens to _us_ if you take a hit?" Dike continued, before Lipton appeared out of the white of the forest, a harried look on his face.

Lipton glanced at the medics, and Sam met his eyes, Gene and Spina still unwilling to acknowledge the presence of Dike. Lipton looked tired, and Sam knew it was because he was basically babysitting their commander while playing worried mother to the entire company. She, Gene and Ralph did their best to help him out, looking after the men as well as they could, but there was only so much they could do in the way of keeping spirits and morale up and making sure the boys didn't freeze to the ground.

"First sergeant, where's my foxhole?" Dike asked angrily, and Lipton gently placed a hand on his arm.

"It's back here, sir. Maybe you, uh, maybe you missed it. I'll walk you back, sir. You're, um…you're a little close to the line here." His eyes darted once more to Sam, who shook her head apologetically, before he urged Dike to leave.

"God damn it," their commander mumbled, before walking off behind the sergeant.

Sam and the two other medics exchanged looks. "Sheesh," she muttered, before dragging her freezing self out of the foxhole and away from Spina's warmth. She immediately regretted it, and stuffed her hands in her pockets, hunching over. "I'm gonna get moving, try and keep warm. I'll see if I can round up some morphine for you, Gene."

Gene pushed himself to his feet, nodding. "Thanks, Sam. I'll do the same. Spina, keep workin' on yer foxhole." He grinned at the scowl the other medic shot him. "What? Better safe than sorry."

"Yeah, but you're stealin' my help, doc. How am I supposed to do this on my own?"

Sam grinned, giving Ralph's hat a playful tug, and he batted her hand away with a grumble. "I'll see if Babe will help ya. He's probably just sitting around not doin' much anyway. If not him, I'll find someone for you, Ralph. Don't worry." Ignoring the Philly medic's rolling eyes, Sam chuckled and started off, Gene falling into step beside her for a few brief moments.

His shoulder brushed hers as their boots crunched in the snow, and he ducked his head to get a good look at her face. "How ya holdin' up?" he asked in a quiet, concerned voice. "You getting' enough food? Stayin' warm?"

"Gene, you know I'm _never_ warm. But other than that, I'm doin' okay. How about you?" She peered up at him, noting the redness of his nose, the strain around his eyes, and how pale his skin was. "You all right? You aren't catching a cold, are you?" She stopped walking, and Gene came to a halt as well, watching with curiosity as Sam dug into the fabric around her neck, pulling off the musty old scarf she'd been given by an old lady before they'd moved to the line. "Here."

"Sam, I can't take that. You need it more'n I do."

"Gene, you have no gloves, no coat, and just that crappy little jacket of yours. Take the scarf, okay? At least you'll have something to keep you warm until you or I can scrounge up something else. And besides, I have Ralph and Babe, and both of those guys are like freakish human heaters. I'm beginning to think it's 'cuz they're from Philly. Maybe I should try to borrow Bill's foxhole at some point too and see if he's the same way to confirm my theory." She grinned brightly as Gene haltingly reached out and took the scarf, winding the dark red fabric around his neck. "There. See? Warmer already?"

"I am," Gene admitted, fingering the scarf with bright eyes. It smelled like Sam, and there was a lingering warmth there from her own body that he was happy to wrap himself up in. "Thanks, _cher_. I appreciate it." He watched a dark red blush color her cheeks, knowing it wasn't from the cold, and smiled fondly. "Anyway, we better get movin'. You come see me if you need anythin' and I'll see what I can do. I'll let you an' Ralph know what I can drum up from the boys today and give ya what I can get. All right?"

"Sounds good, Gene. Stay safe, watch yourself. Keep warm. If someone offers you coffee, take it. Or clothes. Take those too. You look like a red-nosed sheet in the wind; you're so pale." She patted his shoulder, and Gene rolled his eyes playfully.

"Yes, mother."

"Smart ass. Now get movin'." With a grin, she watched Gene jog off, snow kicked up by his boots as he disappeared. When he was gone, she realized just how cold she was now, wrapping her arms around her torso. Without her scarf, her neck felt woefully underdressed, and the chill creeping up her spine made her hair stand on end. "Ugh," she muttered, taking off at a slow jog to try and get her muscles moving and warmed up.

"'Ey, doc, how's it goin'?"

Sam paused by the hole she was about to pass, squatting down at the edge of it and smirking down at Joe Toye and Johnny Martin. She shoved her hands under her arms, hugging the tops of her knees and shivering. "Howdy boys. It's goin'. How about you? You guys doin' all right?" She glanced down at Joe, who had only socks on his feet, some sort of cloth wrapped around them. "Joe?"

"Dryin' my boots and socks," he informed her, nodding his head to the boots that sat just a foot or so away from the foxhole. His wet socks were hanging around his neck. "They're murder, doc. I tell ya."

Sam nodded. "Long as you keep 'em dry, Joe, you should be fine." Her gaze shifted to Johnny, who was leaning against the side of the hole, looking cold and miserable. "Johnny, you okay? You need anythin'?"

"Yeah. A fire, a house, a blanket, and a ticket home?"

"Well, I can't help with your fire, house and ticket, but I can try and find you a blanket. Give me a bit, and I'll be back, okay?" Sam stood to leave, hands rubbing her arms to stay warm, and then paused. "Oh, right. Either of you keep your aid kits from Holland?"

Johnny dug around in his pocket, throwing her a little package which she caught gratefully. "There ya go, doc. That's all we got."

"I used mine in Holland," Joe agreed, shrugging. "But thanks for helpin' us out. Keep your head down, huh, Sam?"

"You know I will," Sam retorted, and turned to walk off, when the air suddenly screamed with the sound of incoming mortars, and the tree a few yards away exploded in a hail of wood fragments. Sam instinctively ducked, dodging the debris that rained down around her, and nearly fell on her ass in the snow. She felt someone grab the back of her coat, and suddenly she was falling through the air, landing in a heap on top of Martin and Joe, who had pulled her into their foxhole.

"Shit!" Joe cursed, squirming until Sam was lying at the bottom of the hole, covered by both sergeants. She threw her arms over her head, gritting her teeth as dirt and splinters rained down on them. She didn't hear any screaming yet, but she knew that once she did, she'd have to get up and out of the hole and head towards it. Of course, she couldn't very well do that with two heavy soldiers trapped on top of her.

"Damn it, Joe! Johnny! You two get offa me! I gotta go help! Someone is gonna need me!"

"Not a damn chance!" Martin snapped, just as the air crackled and exploded again near their hole. He ducked down, one hand holding his helmet to his head, and the other squishing Sam into the dirt. "Just keep your head down, doc! You ain't goin' out in this shit! Not now!"

Sam cursed and squirmed some more, but the pressure of the hand on the middle of her back and her pinned legs kept her from making any progress. The dirt just beside the hole suddenly exploded outwards, showering down soil and debris on the three huddled soldiers, and suddenly, Sam wasn't so eager to leave the foxhole anymore. She squinted her eyes closed, fingers digging into the frozen earth as she heard Joe cursing above her.

"God damn it, my fucking _boots_!"

Sam wondered how he could be worried about boots at a time like this. She was more concerned about _not_ _dying_! But then, just as quickly as it had started, the shelling stopped and the crackling, exploding air seemed to fizzle into a false calm. Sam could hear the distant sound of coughing, one or two men yelling instructions and orders, and then silence. Martin and Joe slowly lifted themselves off of her, sitting up in their hole and gazing over the edge, looking around with rifles raised and ready. Sam picked herself up out of the dirt, brushing it off of her coat and crouching just behind them.

"Joe, Johnny, you okay?" she asked, checking them over for injuries even though neither seemed hit; she just wanted to be sure.

"Fine, doc," Martin replied, before lowering his weapon and turning to inspect her. "You? Sorry if we squished ya. We didn't want you goin' out and doin' something stupid." He patted her head, messily ruffling her hat. Sam mock-scowled as she readjusted it, but couldn't help the smile that wormed its way onto her face.

"Joe? How 'bout you?"

Joe was gazing at the spot his boots had been sitting only seconds ago, and sighed. Sam followed his gaze, horrified to see a smoking crater only a few feet from where they'd been sheltering. His boots were gone, but that could have _just_ as easily been them.

"My boots just got blown to hell. Fucking great," he grouched, plopping back into the foxhole. Sam patted his arm, and he sighed again, sounding fed up. "You okay, doc?"

"I'm good. And don't worry, Joe. I'll keep an eye out for an extra pair. Maybe if I can get to Bastogne, they'll have some spares lyin' around. What size do you wear?"

"Nine, like everyone else."

"Gotcha. I'll be on the lookout. In the meantime, keep your feet as dry as you can." She reached into her bag, pulling out her extra pair of socks. "Here; takes these. They aren't much, but when your other socks get wet, wear these while you dry that pair, okay? Gotta keep those feet dry so you don't get trench foot or frostbite."

Joe took the socks gratefully, the faint traces of a smile on his face. "Thanks, doc. Will do." He gave her back a pat as she clambered out of the foxhole, and he and Martin watched her jog off into the aftermath of the shelling, eager to be sure no one was hurt.

888

Gene, Ralph and Sam met back at Spina's nearly finished hole, sliding in together and plopping into the dirt.

"Who got hit?" Spina demanded, and Sam nodded, looking to Eugene. She hadn't heard anyone calling for a medic; more than likely, she'd been too far away from where they were. She had heard distant yelling, but it was too far to be sure of who it was.

"Penkala," Gene replied, digging around in his bag.

"Is he okay?" Sam asked, immediately alarmed. Gene jerked his head back up, nodding affirmative and Sam let out a long breath, feeling her heart hammer against her ribcage. She didn't know what she'd do if something happened to Skip, Penkala or Malarkey. They were some of her first friends, the first ones besides Gene that she felt really comfortable around, and she cared about them deeply, even if she didn't want to admit it aloud.

"Here."

Sam looked down to see Gene handing her and Spina an aid kit each. She quickly stuffed it in her bag, before handing Gene the morphine from Martin's aid kit. He grinned, stuffing it into his pocket gratefully. "All right, here's what I want you two to do. I want you take someone and work your way up to third battalion. You know what we need: bandages, plasma. Whatever you can beg, you _beg_. All right? And Sam, get me some God damn scissors, and an extra pair for yourself. I can't get any and you and I need 'em…" He paused, before adding. "And you guys get yourselves a hot meal too, huh?"

Sam and Spina exchanged looks. "But Gene…What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Just think of poor lil' ol' me when you're eatin' the hot food. Go." His brittle smile was probably meant to show that he was just joking, and despite Sam's unease with leaving him as the only medic on the line, she nodded, hoisting herself up and out of the hole after Spina.

"Okay, but…take care. Stay safe while we're gone. We'll be back soon."

They trotted away from the foxhole, shoulder to shoulder, and Spina shot Sam a worried glance. "You think the Doc will be okay without us?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Sam replied, though she didn't quite believe it. She hated leaving him alone, but that was Eugene all over: he would always think of others before thinking of himself. If she could, she was going to bring him back something to eat from battalion. "Hey, let's go get Babe. Between the two of you, maybe I can stay a little warmer than usual."

"You're still on about that 'boys from Philly are freakish human heaters' thing ain'tcha?"

"Yes. And once I find Bill, I am going to prove my theory right. Now shift it, Ralph. We gotta get there and back before it gets dark."

888888

As Babe, Spina and Sam trudged through the snow, they kept their eyes peeled for any sign of the enemy.

Sam didn't like the walk; they had no idea which way they were going, and in the never-ending whiteness of the forest, it was hard to tell where they'd even started from. The three of them kept starting at shadows and noises, certain that each one was going to be an enemy soldier. The crunch of their boots in the snow and the quiet, joking voices of Babe and Spina were loud in the stillness of the Ardennes, and Sam shoved her hands in her pockets, shivering as she stumbled along in their wake, trotting to keep up with their longer legged strides and desperate to stay between the two and leech some of their warmth.

"You know he told me he's a God damn virgin?"

"Who?" Ralph asked, glancing at Babe, then Sam, who was bumbling along at his shoulder; he consciously slowed his pace so she could keep up.

"The replacement in my foxhole. Julian. God damn virgin. Just a kid."

"Only virgin I know is the Virgin Mary," Spina quipped.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Ain't nothin' wrong with being a virgin, Ralph," she protested. He and Babe shot her wide-eyed looks. "What?"

"Are you sayin' _you're_ a virgin?" Babe asked, his brows shooting into his hairline.

Sam puffed up indignantly, though she still looked small and cold with her shoulders hunched and hands in her pockets. "Maybe I am. So _what_?"

"Well, I mean…we just thought…You an' the Doc went to Paris together and all..." Babe stumbled over his words, hesitant to continue as Sam fixed him with a seething glare. "Look, hey, sorry. There's nothin' wrong with that! I, uh, I just thought that most people over the age of eighteen were…ya know…And you an' Doc are so close and…You're always together, so I figured…Um, how old are you, Sam?"

"I'm twenty-two, Babe," she replied with a roll of her eyes; nice save. "And what the good Doc and I did or _didn't_ do is none of your business. That's between him and I. So if I find out that either of you breathed a word of this conversation to _anyone_ , including Gene...I know where you sleep. And I know how to remove an appendix _without_ anesthesia. Just remember that."

Ralph and Babe both gulped nervously, nodding their heads emphatically before Sam's scowl morphed back into a neutral smile, teeth chattering as she rubbed her arms. "Good. Now I have no idea where we are or where the hell third battalion is. So let's see if we can-"

She was cut off by Babe falling through the snow ahead of them with a crack of ice and branches. "Shit!" he cursed, though he was laughing giddily. Ralph and Sam joined in, before the sound of a muffled voice calling out in German froze them all in their tracks. Babe put a finger to his mouth to signal for quiet and then suddenly, and frantically, reached his hand out for Ralph's as the voice cried out for someone named 'Hinkel.'

"Help me outta here!" Babe whispered urgently, and Sam and Spina both grabbed an arm and a hand and yanked, dragging him out just as a German popped up out of the snow like a Kraut daisy and lifted a rifle to his face with a shout.

"Go, go! Run! Move it Spina, Sam! Move!" Babe shouted as they took off into the snow, eager to get as far away from the man as possible. A shot rang out, and then another as they booked it over the fallen branches and trees.

"I'm movin', I'm movin'!"

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It took them a lot longer than it should have to reach third battalion, and it was already dark by the time they did. Sam despaired of finding their way back in the dark; they'd probably be wandering around for hours again, lost, until they found some sign of their company.

When they did reach third, she realized that the battalion was no better off than Easy Company was. They did have trenches, of course, which provided an extra measure of protection from the shells and the cold and the wind, but they didn't have very much in the way of supplies either. She kept her head down as Ralph found the head surgeon, rattling off a list of supplies that they needed. Babe stood next to her, looking unimpressed with the setup.

"We can spare a few bandages," the surgeon agreed, jumping into a trench. Spina, Babe and Sam followed, walking along the edge to keep up. "That's it. No morphine. You're gonna have to go back to Bastogne for plasma."

"' _Stogne_? It took us an hour to find _you_!" Babe complained.

Spina leaned towards the trench, eager to grab boxes, and gave over the one the surgeon handed him to Sam, who hefted it into her arms. "Doesn't your surgeon have plasma?" one of the battalion medics who was sorting supplies asked.

"We don't got one," Spina replied. "No surgeon. No aid station. No nothing. Just me an' my buddies." He indicated Babe and Sam with a nod of his head, shoving items into his medic bag.

"Sorry guys, but we just can't help you!" the surgeon lamented, just as the scream of an incoming shell alerted the men to another bombing. Spina leapt into the trench, Babe pushing Sam in before she could blink, the medical supplies nearly spilling out of her arms. She landed hard, the box slamming into her stomach and her elbows hitting the dirt. At such an odd landing angle in such a small space, she felt her ankle twist painfully and gritted her teeth against a yelp of pain, forcing it down and ignoring it in favor of holding the box of supplies close to her.

"Get yer butts out of here!" the surgeon instructed. "We're pulling back!"

Babe shot him a thumbs up, before Spina was pushing Sam through the trenches, eager to get going. Sam gave him a sign to pause, motioning to the box of supplies. He seemed to understand, and the two of them made quick work of grabbing everything out of it and stuffing it into their bags; it would make returning to the line easier in the long run.

They crouched down in the trenches, scuttling along them. Sam hissed in pain, her ankle throbbing and protesting, but now was not the time to be concerned about that. All they needed to worry about was getting back to Eugene and the men. As they made it out of the trenches farther down the line, Sam spied a few blankets haphazardly thrown over some of the logs. No doubt their owners had probably thrown them there in their haste to take cover. She glanced around, and motioned to them eagerly. Babe and Spina nodded quickly, grabbing the blankets and folding them into tight balls in their arms, before rushing off into the trees and back to their line.

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When they finally reached the line, Sam and Ralph split up, letting Babe head back to his foxhole, and the two medics immediately jogged off to find Eugene. Sam paused before they did, indicating the blankets in her arms. Babe was going to keep one and give the other to Bill, while Ralph was going to keep one of his, and keep the other for Eugene; each of them had been able to grab two of them. "Hold up, I'll be back," she told Spina, motioning for him to keep going. "Gotta go hand out some presents."

Spina nodded as Sam loped off, limping only slightly and weaving her way expertly through the foxholes. When she reached one of them, she was _almost_ surprised to see it occupied. Squatting down beside it with a wince, she held out a blanket to first sergeant Lipton, who stared at it in confusion. "Hey there, Lip," she greeted. "Thought you could use this."

When he didn't take it, she frowned, pulling it back. "What's wrong?"

"Thanks Sam, really. But I'm not in this foxhole enough to really need that, ya know? Why don't you take it to Smokey and Moore? I bet they'd appreciate it." He smiled kindly, and Sam stood back up, shrugging her shoulders.

"All right, Lip. If you get cold, you can always share Spina's foxhole with me and him. He's got a blanket too, so it'll be warm."

"Thanks for the offer, Sam. I'll keep it in mind. Stay safe, okay?"

"Yeah, boy," she replied with a cheeky grin, and Lipton chuckled at her thievery of his too often used phrase, watching as she half-jogged and half-limped away back into the cold silence of the trees. His eyes narrowed slightly; was she hurt? Why was she limping? He knew she hadn't been hit. Someone would have told him by now. So what was up with that? Maybe something had happened on her trek to third battalion? He resolved to ask Babe or Spina about it, and see what was up, but he knew that someone would look after her if not him, so he wasn't as concerned as he would normally be. Gene always kept a sharp eye on Sam, even if he tried to be discreet; she was in good hands.

The next foxhole Sam stopped at was belonged to Joe and Martin. Toye wasn't there, and she would bet her boots that he was off checking on the men. Martin was holding down the fort as she kneeled down at the edge of the hole, eager to take the weight off her throbbing ankle; the snow felt good on it, and she breathed out a sigh of relief, welcoming the cold for the first time.

"Hey there, Johnny. Got ya somethin'." She held out the blanket, and Martin took it eagerly, wrapping himself up in it. She knew that he'd share as soon as Joe got back. The two sergeants tended to take turns walking the line, so it would probably be his turn when Toye returned to the foxhole.

"Thanks, doc. You don't know _how_ much I appreciate this," he told her, snuggling down in the blanket like a red nosed caterpillar. Sam grinned as she stood back up, flashing him a thumbs up, and took off down the line, eager to hand over her last blanket before finding Eugene and doling out what supplies she and Ralph had snagged.

When she reached the edge of the line, she dropped into a crouch, scrambling awkwardly along in the snow, free hand outstretched to keep her balance. Smokey was sitting in his hole, stirring a pot of coffee in an unused helmet; she could smell it even from such a distance. As she reached the edge, she dropped to her belly, gazing out over the vast expanse of snow. Alton Moore, who was facing her and not the line, grinned at her as she approached.

"Doc," he greeted, giving her a small wave and indicating she should scoot into the hole. She did so, dropping down into the dirt with hardly a disturbance. "What brings you all the way out here?"

"Lip said you boys were a little cold, so I brought you a gift." She held out the blanket, and Moore took it gratefully.

"Here, doc," Smokey nudged her, and Sam turned just in time to see him holding out a steaming tin cup of coffee. She eagerly reached for it, wrapping her hands around the warm metal, and took a sip. She felt it travel all the way through her, warming her insides and making her feel just a little bit better. She almost didn't want to hand it back, but reluctantly did so, missing the warmth of the hot metal the second it left her fingertips. "Thanks for the blanket; sure will come in handy. How is everyone doin'? How ya been?"

"They're all doin' as well as can be expected," Sam replied, helping Moore get the blanket situated over the hole like a tarp, leaving just enough room to peek through to see the front of the line and the German positions. She held down the edges of the blanket on her side with snow and rocks, and Moore shot her a thankful look. "I'm okay. Cold as always, but okay. I'm glad you guys like the blanket. Stay warm, boys, all right?"

"We'll try, doc," Moore responded. "Thanks. Keep your head low."

"Will do. Same to you two." Sam shimmied out from under the blanket-turned-tarp, limping from the hole at a crouch and feeling the cold seep back into her bones. Even in double layers, she was still freezing. The wet melt from the snow whenever it penetrated her pants made her skin ache, and her ankle wasn't helping matters much either. It was still throbbing, though the cold was helping to keep it from hurting, mostly because it was turning numb. She'd need to find a way to wrap it, or brace it or something, because if it got much worse, she wasn't sure if she would be able to run as fast on it.

Scuffling along through the snow, familiar voices up ahead called her to them, and Sam veered off to see what it was all about. A group of soldiers were sitting in a circle, and she could smell the faint scent of warm food. Joe Dominguez had made some slop that passed for soup, and she saw him dishing it out to the men in the circle, who were laughing and joking amongst one another. Off to the side, she could just make out the dark hair of Eugene, smoking quietly and keeping his distance from the men. This concerned Sam, and she shuffled towards him curiously.

Gene glanced up as Sam neared, his sharp eyes immediately zeroing in on her awkward gait. He waited until she reached him and pulled her helmet off, plopping it down in the snow and perching precariously on top of it the same way he did. "Sam?" he queried. "What happened? Somethin' wrong with yo' leg?"

"I think I twisted my ankle," Sam admitted honestly, straightening her leg out in front of her to take the weight off. "I'll wrap it in a while. It's too cold right now to worry about it. And besides, it's mostly numb now anyway." She shrugged, ignoring Gene's narrow-eyed stare. "Oh, come on. I _promise_ I won't let it get bad. I'll wrap it as soon as I get to my foxhole." She grabbed her medic bag and started rifling around in it, handing Gene some of the bandages and sulfa she'd gotten from the run to third.

Gene took the offered supplies gratefully, stuffing them in his own bag. He reached up and pulled another cigarette from his jacket pocket, placing it between his lips and lighting it up. He ignored Sam's disapproving look and shrugged, stuffing his lighter back into his pocket. Beside them, Muck, Malarkey, Penkala, Julian and Babe were joking around about something that had happened on the run to third battalion.

"You know anythin' about that?" Gene asked Sam, jerking his thumb at the men. She giggled quietly, and he couldn't help but smile at the sound.

"Oh, yeah. I sure do. Babe fell in a hole and nearly got shot in the ass. It would've been waaaaay more funny if we hadn't had to run away from the German that popped up out of it and started shooting at us." Sam noted Dominguez headed their way with large pot of food, and eagerly dug out her mess tin, holding it out for him when he paused beside them. "Thanks, Joe. 'Preciate it."

"At least _someone_ does," he remarked with a half-smile, heading over to the knot of joking soldiers to refill their tins.

Sam dug into the food, before glancing up to see Gene watching her. "What? You didn't want any?" She extended her cup to him. "Want some of mine?"

Eugene shook his head. "Naw, you enjoy. I already ate." At her stare, he continued. "I really did, Sam. And besides, I'm not hungry. Not right now, at least." She still held the tin out, and Gene sighed, finally relenting and accepting it from her and taking a bite just to appease the glaring woman beside him. "Happy now?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Yes, good enough," she admitted, taking back her food and continuing to eat.

"Joe! Be honest! What's in this stuff?" Sam heard Malarkey demand of the cook, and turned her head in time to see Joe headed back towards her. He paused.

"Nothing you won't eat, Malarkey."

"I won't eat Malarkey!" Skip joked.

Joe ambled away, stopping long enough to refill Sam's cup to the top. Sam grinned in thanks, taking a few more bites before holding it out to Gene again. He sighed once more, accepting his fate, and grabbed the tin from her, scraping out some of the food and stuffing it in his mouth. Sam watched with an appraising eye, and Gene had a flashback to his childhood, when his mother would stand over him and force him to eat food he didn't particularly like because, as she put it, she "worked too dang hard for you to not eat _ev'ry_ bite!"

"Hey, maybe Hinkle would like your share!" Julian quipped from his place in the group of men.

"I shoulda shot him when I had the chance," Babe grouched.

"What, running _backwards_ , Babe?" Skip shot back, earning a chorus of laughter from the circle.

Sam and Gene glanced up as Lieutenant Peacock walked past them, pausing by the group to ask: "Anybody seen lieutenant Dike?" Sam furrowed her brow; it sounded like his nose was stuffed up. She hoped he wasn't getting a cold too, but it seemed like most men had some sort of ailment or other, and colds were pretty common.

"Uh," Malarkey started. "Try battalion CP, sir."

Peacock nodded and wandered off, presumably to try and figure out where the hell their oftentimes AWOL commander had gotten to. There was a smattering of smothered laughter in his wake as one of the boys snarked: "Try Paris."

"Try Hinkle."

"Hey. Hey Eugene, Sam." Both medics looked up as Babe turned to awkwardly glance over his shoulder at them. "Lieutenant Dike's got a full aid kit. Why don't one of you try him?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he's not usin' his," Malarkey snorted.

"Maybe Hinkel's got a syrette for ya," Julian added, earning smiles from Sam and Gene.

"They got a point, Gene," Sam muttered, taking her mess tin when he handed it back, now devoid of food. If she'd had her way, they'd have gotten more than the meager meals they were provided, but no one had much in the way of provisions. She was still hungry, but what she'd eaten would have to do; she was more concerned with Eugene getting enough to eat. He never stopped long enough to take care of himself, and she was bound and determined to do it for him if he wouldn't, the same way he did for her.

She cleaned the tin out with snow before replacing it on her belt, glancing up at the man beside her. "You want me to ask him, or you?"

"I'll do it," Gene decided, subtly leaning against Sam for warmth and, admittedly, a little bit of comfort. He usually tried to keep his distance from most people, but with Sam it was different. The times they spent together were few and far between since they'd dug in along the line in the Ardennes. He enjoyed the little bit they had together, and mostly, they spent it talking, or in silence, just enjoying each other's warmth and company. It was the only thing they had to take their minds off their bleak situation, so he treasured every moment he could steal.

"You _sure_ you're okay, Gene?" Sam asked, checking to be sure no one was looking before she reached out and gently grabbed his hand in hers. Her free hand reached up to adjust the scarf around his neck, tucking it closer to his chin. This elicited a smile from the quiet medic that made her heart flutter. "You feelin' all right?"

"I'm okay. I'll be fine. I'm just tired, is all." Sam didn't look convinced, so Gene gave her fingers a squeeze. "Really," he stressed. "Don't worry about me, Sam. Worry about _you_ , okay?" He dropped her hand and hauled himself to his feet, grabbing his helmet and brushing the snow off. "Well," he informed her, picking up the medic bag she handed him. "Guess I'm off to find Dike."

"Yeah right, good luck," Sam snorted, knowing that could be a lost cause.

Gene took another drag from his cigarette, before dropping it and stomping what was left into the ground. "See ya in a while. I'll stop by to see how you an' Spina are doin'. Stay safe." When Sam nodded, Gene placed his helmet back on his head, trotting off into the white of the forest and disappearing a moment later, swallowed up by the snow and the stillness.

Sam shook her head, worried about him; he didn't seem like his normal self. He was always running off, always in a hurry. She understood that he was busy, but he never took a moment to pause or rest, and she could see the strain of it was getting to him. If he did come by their foxhole tonight, she was going to drag him in and make him sleep while she did his rounds for him, no ifs, ands or buts about it.

Giving her leg a shake, Sam stood awkwardly from her place on her helmet, scooting over to sit in the circle of men, squeezing in beside Babe and immediately gluing herself to his side. He didn't complain, already well used to being used for his "freakish warmth" as she called it. "'Ey, Sam. How's it goin'? Come to join the fun?"

"Ah ha ha," she remarked dryly. "So much fun. It's cold as all get out and we're sitting in frozen dirt. This is not my idea of fun."

"But _we're_ fun," Skip shot back, grinning at her from across the foxhole. Sam narrowed her eyes at him, pressing closer to Babe, who rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm over her shoulder, already knowing the drill by now.

"Yeah, okay, nurse. You're _loads_ of fun. Now shut up and pass me some of whatever you're eating. I'm hungry."

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Eugene came by her and Spina's foxhole once it got dark, eagerly doling out a stash of morphine that he'd gotten from Smokey Gordon. Sam grumbled a little when he told her it was from third platoon, annoyed that they'd been holding out on them for so long.

"Got me some scissors too," Gene admitted, flashing the scissors as he crouched at the edge of their hole, shivering and teeth chattering. Sam narrowed her eyes, and before he could protest, she had grabbed his sleeve and dragged him into the foxhole beside her and Spina. Gene yelped as he landed, and Sam immediately manhandled him into the place she'd just been sitting, scooting out from under the blanket and covering him with it. "Sam, what the heck? I got thangs to do."

"I don't _really_ care," Sam quipped, tucking the blanket back around Eugene and a grinning Spina. "You are gonna stay here, get some damned sleep, and let _me_ make the rounds for you, you understand? Ralph will forcibly hold you here if he has to." She shot the other medic a look, and he lifted one shivering hand to give her a mock-salute. "Gene, stay. Really. I got this."

"What about yo' ankle?" he protested, trying to get back up. Sam pushed him back down easily; he was too tired and cold to fight her.

"It's fine, Gene. Ralph wrapped it for me."

"With what?"

Sam held up the edge of the frayed blanket they were huddled under. "Bit of this and a stick. It doesn't hurt at all anymore." A lie, but it really didn't bother her much; it was so cold and numb that it could be broken for all she knew and she'd never even feel the damn thing. "Now get some rest. I'll be back in the morning, okay?"

Grumbling, Gene nodded, his helmet bouncing on his head as he got comfortable under the blanket beside Spina. Sam grinned in the dark, shooting Ralph a look that clearly said he was not to allow Gene to leave that hole unless some sort of emergency cropped up. Spina quirked a brow, showing he understood her meaning loud and clear, and Sam, satisfied that her two medic friends would finally rest a little, shimmied up and out of the hole.

She took off into the dark of the forest, hearing voices from all sides either singing or talking quietly, most bored and eager to pass the time with something to get their minds off the cold. She followed her ears to the sound of loud, somewhat terrible singing (one voice she recognized as Liebgott), passing Bill's hole on the way.

"Hey there, Bill."

"Marlena, that you?" he called, before he jumped up and out of the hole, following in Sam's wake.

"How's the leg?" she asked as he joined her. Bill hesitated, looking unsure about something, but Sam missed it as she hunched along towards the sound of singing.

"Eh, forget about the leg, doc," he began, and Sam paused, casting him a shivering glance as she waited for him to continue. "I, uh…Listen, I'm pissin' needles. I don't know what it is but-"

"Later, okay Bill?" She could hear his boot steps just behind her, knowing he probably wasn't going to be satisfied with that answer as she crouched down at the edge of the foxhole filled with very bad singers. "Hey, Liebgott, Alley. USO, pickin' up syrettes. Ya got any?" Her grin was infectious, and the two men inside paused in their singing to hand over their morphine.

"Mine got used in Holland, doc," Liebgott replied, shaking his head.

"Here ya go, doc," Alley quipped, fingers shaking slightly as he handed it over.

"You boys doin' all right? That's some mighty fine singing."

"Yeah, we're gonna start our very own Easy company choir," Joe joked, shooting her a wink. "We're good though. Cold as hell, but good."

"All right then, boys." She reached down, patting Alley's helmet fondly; when he'd come back from the hospital in Holland, he had thanked her for looking after him, informing her that he'd heard her voice soothing him as he lay on the table. Sam had felt touched by his thanks, and strove to do the same for each man she helped in the field. She found that, now that she'd been with them for some time, she would do just about _anything_ to keep them safe. "Keep your heads down, and keep up the choir practice. I do believe that you'll be _somewhat_ decent by Christmas."

The two men chuckled at her lighthearted attempt before going back to their song, and Sam stood from the hole, ankle feeling a little less stiff now that she was moving. She made to move to the next one, when Bill blocked her way.

"Hey doc, doc. Every time I pee its _murder_." He looked uncomfortable admitting that to her, following in her wake as she crunched on into the snow.

"Look, Bill. I know. I'm sorry, I really am. But we don't have any penicillin for your biroute. I'm pretty sure that's what you got." The two of them paused by Lieutenant Peacock's foxhole, noting the officer sitting in a shivering huddle just on the edge of it. "Lieutenant. You need to get moving every once in a while. You've gotta keep your blood flowing."

"But…I can't feel my feet."

"That's why you need to move around, sir. It'll help with that; you're gonna cut off the circulation in your feet if you don't." She indicated the surrounding area. "Just a little walking, lieutenant. You don't wanna get trench foot."

"Uh…Should I take my boots off?" Peacock asked uncertainly.

Sam shook her head. "Nope. You just gotta move around. Just loosen the laces and move, okay?" She rose from her crouch, stepping towards Bill who lingered near the foxhole, face screwed up in pain and annoyance. "Look, Bill, I'm really sorry, okay? I just…I can't help you. I know it hurts, really. The only thing you can do is drink more water."

"Water? But it's pissin' that hurts!"

"Bill, that will help flush-"

"Shut it! Shut the hell up!" Buck Compton rushed towards them with a hiss, and Sam immediately snapped her mouth shut, looking up at him in shock. The look on his face was concerning, and his eyes were wide and wild as he stared down at the two of them. "Who's singing Bill? Who is it? Shut them up."

"It's okay, lieutenant. I'll find 'em. I'll shut 'em up."

Sam watched Bill walk off, before turning back to Compton. "Lieutenant?" she whispered, careful to keep her voice low. Buck was still looking around, brows pinched together. "Buck. Are you all right?" She placed a gentle hand on his elbow, and he flinched so hard that she immediately retracted it. "Sorry."

"No, Sam, I'm sorry," he admitted, stiffened shoulders relaxing slightly as he looked down at the diminutive sergeant. "I didn't mean to yell at ya. I just don't want anything to…Anyway, I'm doin' okay. For the most part." When Sam didn't look convinced, he added with a grin: "Are you worried about my _ass_?"

Snorting, Sam gave him a playful shove. "I'm worried about the four _holes_ ya got shot through it, you big doof. But hey, Buck." She sobered quickly, her face stern and serious. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask me, or Gene or Ralph, okay? Even if you just need someone to talk to or share a foxhole with; we're all here for ya. You aren't alone, okay?"

Buck smiled kindly down at her, reaching out to rap his knuckles against her helmet fondly. "Thanks Sam. I appreciate it, and I'll remember that. I might take you up on that offer sometime."

"Good. Stay outta trouble, lieutenant, all right?"

"You know it, Sam."

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"MEDIC!"

Sam startled awake as Gene leapt out of the foxhole, darting off before she even had a chance to say a word. Beside her, Ralph was hunched down, eager to avoid the explosions that were rocking the earth and shattering the trees around them. Sam grabbed her helmet as splinters rained down on them, dirt and debris pinging off the metal. "Shit," she muttered, trying to see over the edge of the hole to be sure Gene hadn't been hit. "Ralph, you stay. I'm gonna go help Gene."

"Christ, be careful, Sam!" Spina shouted as she jumped out of the hole, taking off in the direction Eugene had gone.

The air was still exploding around her, and she skidded along the snow, using trees and fallen branches as cover as she raced to keep up with the disappearing medic ahead of her. Twigs, shrapnel, splinters from the trees and dirt pinged off her helmet as she finally caught sight of Gene who had slid into a hole with Skinny Sisk and Frank Perconte. Frank was on the phone, calling for a jeep as Sam slid in beside them. Sisk cried out as she jostled him, immediately taking his leg from Eugene, who was picking large, painful looking tree splinters out of it.

"Gene! Sisk!" she cried, looking over the wounded, shaking leg; it was shredded and peppered with splinters from the trees and small fragments of shrapnel. "Okay, Skinny, okay. You're gonna be all right." She reached up, pressing her hand against his cheek, and he relaxed into the hole, his leg still shivering in her grasp, but his face now more concerned than pained.

"It's not that bad," Gene intoned beside her, sprinkling sulfa on the wound.

"Not that bad?" Skinny repeated. "Not that bad?"

Sam grabbed his hand as Gene placed a bandage on the leg, pulling the ties tight. Skinny's fingers dug into her own as he groaned in pain. "No, no, doc, save the morphine! I can make it! I can make it!" he quickly assured Gene as the medic made to grab a syrette from his pocket. Gene nodded, placing it back.

"Help me get him to the jeep!"

Sam nodded, grabbing Skinny under his uninjured leg as Gene grabbed the other. "Wait, Sam, I got 'im," Frank muttered, gently pushing her out of the way and taking her place. "Get the radio, we might need it." Unwilling to protest and waste time, Sam let Frank take her place, picking the radio up and slinging it over her back.

"Where's the god damn jeep!?" Gene demanded as they scrambled through the snow; the world was still exploding around them, trees shivering and shaking and great clouds of dirt and snow blowing into the air with each round that hit.

"I dunno, but I can hear it!" Frank shouted just as the two men slipped, sending Skinny to the ground with a scream of pain.

"AHHH! Jesus Christ!"

"Aw, Skinny, you got blood all over my trousers!"

"I'm real _sorry_ Frank!"

"Get 'im up!" Gene cried.

Sam rushed over, helping to drag them back up into a standing position and careful not to jostle Skinny's leg too much. "Easy there, Skinny. I gotcha. Come on boys, stand up." She glanced over her shoulder as the squeal of tires alerted them to the arrival of the jeep. "Jeep's here, let's go!" She grabbed Sisk's uninjured leg, helping to carry him towards the jeep and hefting him onto the front on a stretcher.

"Sam, come on!" Gene commanded, pushing her towards the front of the jeep; she leapt in obediently, reaching across to give Skinny's arm a pat of reassurance. Gene jumped into the back of the jeep. "Frank, tell Spina we went for plasma!"


	10. Now I Hear

A/N: I really love the reviews, you guys! They inspire me to add more, to write more, to put in extra effort! Thank you so, so much!

So, more of these nerds. I love all of them, like so much.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _Now I'm confused. Now I don't know what I want." -Chris Kirkpatrick_ _  
_

 **Chapter 10: Now I Hear**

Bastogne was an absolute mess.

Sam was leaning across the hood of the jeep, fingers curled in Skinny's jacket sleeve to be sure he wasn't bounced off the front of the stretcher; the last thing he needed was to be accidentally run over.

"All the tanks, artillery, all pull back to here. We got no backup beyond Bastogne. This is it," their jeep driver shouted. "The krauts captured the 326th medical and they took everybody! Doctors, medics, the whole shebang!"

Sam felt something inside of her freeze. "The 326th?" she questioned, her eyes immediately sharpening on the driver. He nodded, jerking the wheel as the jeep skidded along the muddy, watered down roads.

A cold pit of dread settled in Sam's stomach as her mind immediately raced to Lew and Sidney, the two medics she'd first met when she'd joined the 326th. Even the replacements she'd helped to train; she wondered how many of them had survived. She sent up a silent prayer to her two friends, tears pricking at her eyes before she blinked them resolutely away.

God, let them be all right.

She felt fingers gently encircle her own, and glanced up to see Skinny twisted towards her, watching her with concern. He had no idea what was on her mind, but he could tell by the look on her face that whatever it was, it had hit her hard. Sam smiled at him, touched by his show of comfort despite the obvious pain he was in. She gave his hand a squeeze as the jeep rumbled into town, coming to a stop just outside what appeared to be a church.

A pair of medics rushed towards the jeep with a stretcher, and Sam and Gene jumped out, helping to move Skinny onto it. "He took a mortar hit," Gene told them. "Watch the leg."

"Yeah, watch the leg!" Skinny echoed, and Sam grinned despite herself.

Gene gave her a nudge to follow the men, but she shook her head, indicating some of the wounded who were sitting outside on makeshift chairs, stools, and pieces of the building. "Let me know if you need anything, Gene. I'm gonna help out here."

Eugene hesitated; he didn't like the idea of leaving Sam out here with the frozen bodies and the wounded, but if it was what she wanted, then who was he to argue? "All right. Just come get me if you need me. I'll be back in a bit." At her resolute nod, he slowly tagged along behind the stretcher, leaving Sam to her work.

Sam immediately gazed around, her eyes landing on the heap of frozen bodies near the church yard wall. She grimaced, quickly averting her gaze to the living men whom she was capable of helping. The first she saw was propped up against the wall, and another medic rushed out to hold something to his lips. Sam immediately headed over, reaching out to take the tin cup of water from the medic. "I got it," she assured when he gave her a surprised look. "Help someone else. And let me know what you need me to do."

"Right, thank you," the man agreed. He didn't seem to realize she was a woman, if his lack of confusion was any indication, or he just didn't care. She could see the same strain around his eyes that she saw on Gene's face, and she sympathized. She eagerly took some bandages and sulfa that he handed her, pointing to the men sitting against the wall beside the door. "Change as many bandages as you can. Their wounds aren't too bad, and we don't have any room for them inside." He shrugged, as if it couldn't be helped, and then headed back through the church doors.

Sam turned back to the man in front of her, and he gave her a narrow-eyed look. "Howdy," he greeted, even as she held the tin cup to his lips. He gratefully took a sip, one hand reaching up to help her hold it.

"Easy now, soldier. I gotcha. What's your name?" she asked, smoothing her hand over his forehead. He relaxed against the wall with a sigh, a faint smile on his face. Sam raised a brow. "What?"

"Never thought I'd meet a lady medic _here_ ,of all places. I thought that French nurse and her friend from the Congo were all they had. My name is Steve…Steve Rogers, ma'am. Nice to meetcha."

"I'm Sam…And yeah, I'm a lady medic," Sam replied with a chuckle; she hadn't been concerned about her gender since Sink had complimented her on her work and transferred her to Easy. She didn't have to worry about being treated differently, she realized. At least, not by her _own_ company. Outsiders were a bit iffy, but this man seemed all right. Plus, he was wounded so she'd cut him some slack. "Where were you hit, Rogers?"

He obligingly held up his arm, a large, red-stained bandage covering what she knew was a wound underneath. "What happened?" she asked, carefully peeling back the bandage to inspect the injury; a large, deep hole punctured his upper bicep, and it looked painful. It appeared to be okay for the most part, but judging by the dried blood around it, and the fact that it was oozing dark blood, she assumed it had closed up and then been reopened. It didn't look like anyone had stitched it up, which could be the reason for the problem.

"Shrapnel," Rogers replied with a wince as Sam carefully unwound the old bandage, pulling open a packet of sulfa and sprinkling it on the wound. "Damn krauts. I was checkin' on some of the men when they hit us, and I just didn't get to my foxhole in time. I'm gonna head back soon." Sam nodded as she replaced the bandage carefully, giving it a light tug to secure it.

"Sounds good, Rogers. You're gonna need stitches, but I don't have the tools to do that for you right now. One of the guys here will be by in a bit to help you out. When you head back to the line, make sure your medic takes a look at it in a day or two. Keep it clean, keep it bandaged. I know that's hard, but the better you take care of it, the quicker it will heal."

She reached up, smoothing the hair off his forehead again in a gesture that had become familiar to her, one she used on many of the wounded men she'd treated; it always seemed to calm and relax them, and if the way Steve sagged against the building with a sigh was any indication, it had worked on him as well. "You'll be okay. Keep your head down, eyes open. You'll make it through this." She patted his shoulder and stood, moving on to the next patient.

"Thanks, doc!" Steve called, and Sam turned to see him smiling at her. She returned the smile, picking her way through the rubble to the next man who was sitting against the wall on a chunk of building.

"Hey there, soldier. How's it goin'?"

"Hey, doc," the man greeted in a way that sounded so much like the boys back on the line, that Sam had to pause for a second at the familiarity of it. "It's _goin'_. Got this damn pain in my leg that won't go away, though." He grinned cheekily, indicating the bandage wrapped around his calf. "Fun times with kraut artillery. Seems to be popular nowadays."

Sam chuckled, crouching down beside him. "Fun times, indeed. I'm Sam Branigan, nice to meet you. I'm gonna take a look under the bandage, all right?"

"Name's James Barnes. And sure, doc. I don't mind if ya take a peek, although usually I like to buy a lady dinner first." He winked as Sam blushed, shaking her head and peeling back the bandage. The wound looked good, and she could see why he was sitting out here, ready to head back to the line soon; he could probably walk well enough on it. It just needed a bit of looking after. Someone had stitched it very artfully, and there was no pus or blood oozing from the stitches. They'd heal just fine if given enough time.

"Well, Barnes, your leg doesn't look too bad. But just to be sure, I'm gonna put some more sulfa on it and change the bandage, all right?"

"Whatever you'd like to do, doc."

Sam rolled her eyes, tearing open a sulfa package after pulling the bandage fully off and folding it up. She sprinkled the white powder over the wound, leaning down to get a closer look. "This really _is_ healing well; I'm impressed. You need to keep an eye on it, though, just in case, all right?" She pulled a new bandage out, propping his leg up on her knee to wrap it.

"Yeah, I'm a quick healer. I fell out of a tree once when I was eight; I was only in a cast for a few weeks when I broke my arm." He grinned cheekily, and Sam huffed, pursing her lips to avoid smiling and encouraging him. "Aw, come on, doc. Don't give me that look."

"You mean the look that says I think you're a chucklehead?" Sam teased, laughing under her breath when he pouted dramatically; he reminded her of Easy's George Luz. Both had the same twinkling eyes and seemed to be all about the comedy. She finished wrapping his wound, and pulled his pants leg back down over it. "Anyway, I've gotta check on some more men. You'll be fine as long as you keep that clean and bandaged, and try to stay off it as long as you can. A few days if you could manage it, maybe?" She smiled lightly, and was surprised when the man grabbed her hand, placing it on his forehead. "What the heck?"

"Hey, you did it for _that_ punk over there, that thing where you put your hand on his forehead and he sorta just went all slack and shit," James protested, indicating a lightly dozing Rogers with his thumb. "Do it for me. I need a good nap. You look like you got a healin' touch."

Sam rolled her eyes, but complied, gently smoothing her hand along his forehead, fingers ruffling his hair that hung down over her knuckles. He gave a long sigh, shoulders slumping as he leaned back against the wall. "Ah, right, that's perfect. Been a long time since a lady touched me." When she made to move her hand away in annoyance, he grabbed it lightly, chuckling in apology. "Oh man, I didn't mean like _that_. I just meant that it was nice; reminds me of home, I guess."

Sam could understand that; it was probably the same way Gene reminded _her_ of her home, of her childhood. It was one of the many reasons she cared about him so much. "Right then," she muttered, and rubbed her thumb along his temple. "Just relax. You'll be fine, okay? Keep safe, keep those eyes of yours open, and try not to get hit again, okay ya chucklehead?"

"You got it, doc. Thank you." His grin was thanks enough without the words, and Sam removed her hand, standing up and turning. "Hey, Sam?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he shot her a thumbs up. "You stay safe too, all right?"

"Of course," she agreed. She trotted back over to the church, eager to get more supplies to help more men, when Eugene came rushing out of the doors, a box in his hands.

"Hey, _cher_ ," he greeted, indicating the box he was holding. "Got some supplies. We gotta get back to the line." He jerked his head towards a waiting jeep, and then took off over the rubble. Sam followed, catching sight of movement out of the corner of her eye. James was waving at her, grinning widely, and she shook her head, waving back before taking off after Gene, who had flagged down the jeep driver.

"Boots!" Sam shouted suddenly, startling the Cajun medic who had come to grab her and haul her back. He gave her a quizzical look, and she blushed. "Um, for Toye. His got blown up." She watched understanding flash across Gene's face, and he nodded, turning to the stack of frozen bodies by the wall. Sam immediately turned away and headed to the jeep, not caring to see him take boots from a dead man, even though she knew it was necessary. If she'd had less morals, she might've looked for some blankets, gloves or jackets too, but she wasn't about to stoop to that, even if the boys needed it.

Sam clambered into the back of the jeep, her ankle protesting only minimally (it had been feeling much better since Ralph wrapped it for her) and got comfortable. She watched as Gene started to jog back to the jeep, but was stopped by a woman who came out of the church, calling his name. She was wearing a blue kerchief, her blonde hair tucked safely underneath. Sam couldn't help but think her smile was very beautiful as she looked at Gene, tossing him something small and square that he caught easily. She couldn't catch the words exchanged, but the way the nurse smiled and her body posture indicated that she thought Gene was something special.

Ignoring the annoyance bubbling in her chest, Sam took the box of supplies that the jeep driver handed her, hunkering down in the back of the jeep and clutching them against her stomach, knees pulled up to keep them safe as Gene jumped into the front seat. She didn't say anything as he turned and smiled at her, boots hanging around his neck, and waved a chocolate bar temptingly in front of her face.

"Look what I got," he informed her happily. " _En chocolat_."

Sam ignored the churning in her gut to grace him with a smile, her eyes darting eagerly to the chocolate bar. She hadn't had any since they'd gotten to Belgium, and she could already feel her mouthwatering. But then again, it _had_ come from that nurse, and it was probably meant just for Gene. "Very nice," she commented, winking. "Guess you were gettin' all buddy-buddy with the pretty nurse back there, hmmmm?"

Gene blushed, carefully dropping the bar back into his medic bag, and turned back around in his seat. The heaviness in her stomach increased as she recognized that he was trying to avoid her question. "It's okay, Gene," she continued, turning to the back of the jeep and staring at the retreating church, at the distant figure of a waving James. "I think you should save that chocolate for yourself."

8888

The jeep squealed back to the line, slipping and sliding over the snow before coming to a halt. Up ahead, between some trees, Sam could make out Father Maloney performing some sort of service with Skip as his alter boy. The men were praying, but she wasn't sure why. It wasn't really a common occurrence nowadays. As Gene came around to the back to relieve her of the box of supplies so she could get out, she heard Skip comment:

"That's it guys; nothin' more to worry about. We gonna die now, we gonna die in a state of grace."

Sam leapt out of the back of the jeep, landing awkwardly on her ankle and hissing in pain. Gene's sharp eyes shot towards her, but she shrugged, reaching out to take the box from him as Ralph jogged up to them. "What's up, Ralph?"

"Battalion want a reconnaissance patrol. Kraut hunting." He didn't sound too happy about it, and Sam grumbled under her breath; these sorts of little missions were always the most dangerous and the most pointless.

"All right," Gene decided. "I'll go. Sam, you and Spina take the supplies. Give the boots to Joe Toye." Spina took the supplies from her and Sam took the boots from Gene, frowning slightly. "Tell him they're a nine."

"Gene…" she started, but he patted her shoulder awkwardly and jogged off to join the patrol. Sam reluctantly turned, following after Spina, hurrying to keep up. "Hey, Ralph. Anything happen while we were away?"

"Nah, not much, Sam. What about you two? That was…awkward."

Sam winced, and shrugged, not caring to mention the comment she'd made in the jeep that seemed to have put Gene on edge. She wasn't sure why; she'd only been joking...mostly. Maybe he'd taken her too seriously. Or maybe he could tell that she was uncomfortable. Either way, she wished she could take it back.

"Eh, it's nothin'. Listen, you start going through those supplies so we can divvy it up when Gene gets back. I'm gonna go give Joe his new boots. Hopefully, these won't get blown up either." Spina shot her a grin as she jogged off into the snow, boots crunching as she headed back to the main line and the men's foxholes. In the distance, she could hear the sound of gunfire and yelling, and she paused momentarily, looking over her shoulder uncertainly. She knew that whatever happened, Gene would take care of the men, and she was too far away to help anyway. She'd need to wait and see what happened.

Once she reached the foxholes, she wound her way through them until she reached Toye's, finding him sitting with Bill in the bottom, quietly discussing something. From the looks on their faces, Sam guessed it was probably the patrol. "Joe," she greeted, sliding down to sit on the edge of the foxhole. "Brought you somethin'."

Joe was huddled in the blanket she'd brought him and Martin a few days before, looking cold and miserable. Bill was clutching his rifle, and glanced up to grin at her. "Hey there, doc. Slide on in and get warm."

Eager to prove her theory that all men from Philly were freakish human heaters, Sam did as she was told, snuggling against Bill's side. True to her summation, he was warmer than most of the guys she'd sat in a foxhole with, and she eagerly leaned into his shoulder, not even flinching when he wrapped an arm around her. She held the boots out to Joe, who looked at them with a grimace. "Oh come on, Joe. You _gotta_ put 'em on," she chided, and with a huff, he uncurled from his blanket, reaching out to take them.

Sam watched as he unwrapped his feet, but stopped him when he did so, so she could examine them. "Yeesh, Joe, you _have_ to keep your feet dry. You're on the verge of getting trench foot." She lightly touched the tip of his toe, and he hissed slightly, but didn't pull away. "Yeah, _real_ close. _Please_ keep your feet dry, Joe."

"I'm _tryin'_ , Sam" he grouched, pulling his dry socks from his pocket and shoving them on his feet. The boots followed soon after, and he left the laces loose. "It's just too damn hard. This fuckin' snow is everywhere. I hate this place." Sam rolled her eyes; she'd long since given up correcting the boys on their language. Swearing was a soldier's second nature, and she couldn't do much about it, she'd discovered. So she let it be.

"I second that," Bill added and Sam nodded. "It's like hell, only colder. What I wouldn't give for a beach and the sand and the sun. And I don't even _like_ the beach that much."

"Hey, it could be worse," Joe speculated, giving his newly booted feet a thump in the dirt to make sure they fit right.

" _How_ could it be worse?" Sam demanded.

"We could have Sobel for a commander."

"Joe, seriously, shut up."

88888888888

Sam found out later that the patrol had lost Julian, the replacement who shared Babe's foxhole. No one had been able to reach him, and the idea of him dying there, alone, afraid, in a pool of his own blood, sickened her down to her core.

She found Gene and some of the men from the patrol huddled in the same circle they'd been in only a few days prior. Gene once more sat apart from the rest, his eyes locked on the ground as though unwilling to meet anyone's gaze. As Sam wandered towards them, she could see the pain on their faces, most particularly, on Babe's. She knew he'd become close to the boy he'd shared his foxhole with, and she knew that the loss had probably hit him hard. To the side, Johnny Martin was speaking quietly with Winters about the patrol.

Sam skirted them, debating on whether she should sit with Gene or with the boys. In the end, the look on Babe's face won out, and she carefully settled in beside him. He hardly moved, but he did lift his eyes to shoot her a pitiful look that tugged so hard at her heartstrings, she reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against her side. He didn't protest, closing his eyes tightly as Sam held him to her. She glanced up and over his head, meeting Gene's gaze and holding it for a beat. He looked worn down, his face scrunched up from the cold and his hands shoved in his pockets. He just…looked so tiny and frail, and Sam wanted to go to him too and pull him into her arms. But right now, Babe needed comfort, and she didn't want to leave him alone.

Gene's eyes flickered back down to his boots, and Sam dropped hers to stare at the ground, fingers trembling as they dug into the fabric of Babe's jacket. She felt the earth shift next to her, and Winters slid into the hole beside her, pressed up against her right side.

"Let me get in here with you guys," he muttered, leaning against her and providing much needed and welcome warmth. Sam respected that he was willing to sit with the men; he didn't have to. He had his own HQ, probably complete with tent and warm fire, somewhere down the line. He could be out there with the other higher ranking officers, warmer and more comfortable. Instead, he was here, sharing in the grief and the cold, and it was just one more thing that Sam admired about him.

She glanced back at Gene, feeling Babe do the same, wondering if he'd join them as well. She noticed that he always kept his distance, never calling anyone by their nickname, never getting close to any of the men. He didn't seem that way with her, and to a lesser degree, Spina and Babe, but she wondered why he was like that with everyone else. Sam's eyes darted down to his hands, which had pulled the chocolate bar from his pack, turning it over and then lifting it to his nose. She watched him inhale the scent, fingers running over the wrapper. Quietly, Sam wondered if he was thinking of the nurse who'd given him the chocolate.

Giving herself a little shake, she pushed the thought from her head and let her mind go blissfully blank.

8888

Gene got up and left a few minutes later, off to walk the line and check on the men, but Sam remained, her arm still around Babe and offering him what silent comfort she could. She could feel Winters watching her and turned to face him, gracing him with a tentative, watery smile. "Sir? Everything okay?"

"I'm all right, Sam, thanks. How about you? How have you been holding up?" His voice was quiet, as if he was unwilling to break the steady silence that had descended on the men.

"Fine, sir. Just fine. Always cold." She gave Babe's shoulder a gentle squeeze. Winters was still watching her steadily, and then seemed to nod to himself, as if he'd decided something. Sam had no idea what it was about, but she wasn't eager to ask.

"All right, doc," he commented a few moments later. "Just keep yourself safe, all right? I'm gonna go check on the line." He reached out, patting her shoulder, before he stood, shimmying out of the foxhole. He gave Babe's arm a reassuring squeeze, before he headed off to do as he said. Sam knew he'd be true to his word; unlike Dike, he actually _cared_ about his company.

She turned back to the men huddled in a circle, meeting the gaze of Skip and Malarkey across from her. Over their shoulder, Martin was pursing his lips, shooting her a look that told her he was feeling just as guilty as Babe was. She turned back to said solider, lowering her head so she could speak to him; he was resting his cheek against her shoulder, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Hey, Babe. Why don't you share my foxhole with me and Ralph? We could use another body. It gets too cold in there, and you know, you Philly boys are warm." She didn't smile, just gave him a reassuring hug with her arm. Babe nodded slowly, his eyes still closed, and Sam took that for a good sign. As good as it could get, at least.

A few hours later, as the day turned to night, Sam hadn't done much in the way of checking on the other men. She knew Ralph and Gene would handle that; she was more concerned with Babe. He'd been fairly unresponsive in the time they spent sitting together, and she'd managed to convince him to walk with her to at least get him moving and get his blood pumping again. He didn't seem eager to comply, but did as he was told after a bit of poking and prodding. His silence and his melancholy were painful to witness, and Sam ached painfully for his loss. She wished she could make the hurt in his soul go away, but she couldn't sprinkle sulfa on a busted heart.

Once night fell, she ushered him to her foxhole where Spina sat, holding the covering up so he could slide in and get situated beside the other medic. She slid in on his other side, pulling the blanket over the three of them and tucking him in. Ralph didn't say anything as he locked eyes with Sam, seeming to understand that Babe needed comfort, and wrapped an arm around his fellow Philadelphian.

A few hours later, Sam heard the tarp over their foxhole shift, and Gene scrambled in beside her. "Heffron," he said quietly, a faint smile on his face. "Gotcha." Sam shot him a look, and he met her gaze, looking confused. "What…?" When none of the other occupants of the hole responded, he reached into his bag, pulling out the candy bar. "Heffron?" he asked, holding it out. Babe didn't move, so Gene quickly tore open the wrapper, snapping a piece off. "Edward. Eat it."

Reluctantly, Babe reached out to take the chocolate, biting into it with a crunch of frozen candy and chewing slowly. Sam watched him like a hawk, eager to be sure he ate all of what he was offered. Chocolate, for some reason, always helped people, and she hoped maybe this would lift his spirits just a little bit.

"Good," Gene said, staring hard at Babe. "All right."

The silence stretched between them for a moment before Babe broke it. "I promised him if he got hit, I'd get his stuff and bring it to his ma, ya know? Now the fucking Krauts will strip him!"

Sam blinked in surprise; that was what had been eating at Babe all day, then. He hadn't told her, or said a word about it. It seemed that he needed to unburden himself, though, and she listened quietly, Gene pressed against her side as she leaned into Babe.

"Hey, no, it's okay," Gene tried, locking eyes with Sam and blinking hard.

"It's _not_!" Babe cut him off. "It's not okay. Shoulda got to him." He followed it up with a cough that had Sam squeezing his shoulder, pressing him closer to Ralph for warmth; the cough was another thing that was worrying her about Babe. He'd had it for a while, and she was concerned it could turn into bronchitis or pneumonia if he wasn't careful.

Not too long after Babe's outburst, both Spina and the red head were asleep, Babe resting his head on Sam's shoulder, and Spina resting his on Babe's. Sam could see Eugene was awake out of the corner of her eye and turned to watch him. His gaze was fixed on the sky as a flare lit up the night, shining on his pale skin and making him half close his eyes.

"Sam?" he intoned quietly, turning to look at her uncertainly. He carefully edged his arm out from beneath the blanket, holding the rest of the foil wrapped chocolate out for her. Sam took a piece, sticking it in her mouth and nearly melting at the taste; it felt like it had been so long since she'd had her beloved chocolate. The smile on Gene's shivering face told her he was happy to let her have some, and she scooted closer to him, taking his hands in hers under the blanket and pulling him hard against her.

"What do you call Cajun healers, Gene? I remember my ma mentioning them once or twice," she asked softly, careful not to disturb the other two occupants of the hole.

Gene half-smiled, tilting his head towards hers. "Traiteurs. You know…my grandma was a traiteuse."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she was. She laid her hands on people and cured 'em. Took away sickness, cancer, you name it. I remember she used to pray a lot…talked to God about the pain she pulled out. She asked him to carry it away." He gave a little snort, shaking his head. "That's what she did."

"Maybe that's why they chose you to be a medic."

"Why?" Gene asked. "Because my grandma was a healer? I doubt they knew that."

"No, no, Gene. But…well, you have a look about you. You have a way with people. You calm them down when they panic, you take the pain away from their minds and make them focus on something else. You're reassuring, tenacious, and brave. _That's_ what makes you a good medic. You ever think you might be a traiteuse too?"

Gene was staring at her with a quiet intensity that made her uncomfortable, and she quickly turned away and dropped his hand to hide her embarrassment. "Sorry," she mumbled, feeling as though she might have offended him; she knew he hadn't wanted to be a medic, and probably still didn't want to be one, and here she was, telling him he was picked for a reason.

"Sam, don' be sorry," he said quietly, and she felt his hand take hers again beneath the blanket, squeezing reassuringly. His skin was still like ice, but hers was warmer, and she wrapped her fingers over his in an effort to keep him from being so cold. "That's…a nice thing to say. Maybe I do have a little faith healin' in me. But…I think people like _you_ are the ones who have healin' hands."

Sam shot him a surprised look. "Uh…"

"I've seen ya. When you were with Moose in Holland, when Skinny got hit. Even when you were helpin' that man outside the church in Bastogne." He grinned when she looked shocked. "Yeah, I saw ya. Yo' touch calms people. That's a gift from God. You told me you wanted to be a doctor; I think you'll be the best damn doctor anyone has ever seen. You have healing hands, Sam. They're doing what they were _meant_ to do."

"T-thanks Gene…I…Well, _thank_ you." She tentatively let her head fall to rest on his shoulder, and Gene gently lowered his head until it rested against hers, their helmets bumping slightly. On her other side, Babe shifted in his sleep, snuggling closer to Sam for comfort. For the first time since they'd come to the Ardennes, Sam was warm and she felt safe and content. Gene could say the same thing; he felt like he'd been cold for a very, very long time, and that it would never end. But here, in the foxhole, surrounded by people he truly cared about and cuddled up against the woman who meant the most to him, he was warm. He was safe.

"You're welcome, _cher_. Get some sleep."

8888

An explosion in the distance startled Gene awake.

He woke with a gasp, breath sawing in and out in the cold. Beside him, Sam, Babe and Spina slept on, peacefully unaware of the shivering Cajun beside them. Eugene carefully began to slide out of the foxhole, reaching over to tuck Sam in and smiling fondly when she reached for the blanket in her sleep, curling it closer to her in an effort to stay warm.

Shimmying out from beneath the tarp, Gene stood in the snow, body feeling as stiff and frozen as the hard packed earth beneath his boots. The conversation he'd had with Sam from the night before was still fresh in his mind, and he smiled slightly in remembrance at the look of surprise on her face when he'd complimented her. It warmed him for only a moment, before he was forced to hunch over and stuff his hands in his pockets, shivering against the freezing cold.

Since they'd dug in along the Ardennes, he and Sam hadn't spent much time together, and with good reason. The only time they saw one another was when they shared a foxhole during the night, or when someone was wounded. There was the occasional bit of downtime when the men joked and laughed and ate the food Joe Dominguez put together for them, and during those times, Sam and Gene sat together, sharing food, talking quietly, and enjoying each other's presence. Those were the times he enjoyed most, even if she sometimes forced him to eat food he wasn't interested in. She was more like a mother hen than she realized, and he had to admit that he found it endearing.

But when they'd left Bastogne, he hadn't missed the way she'd looked at him and the chocolate bar he got from the nurse, Renee. Nor did her 'joke' about getting all 'buddy-buddy' sit well with him. He'd chosen not to answer, honestly not sure what to say or if she needed reassuring, and he wondered how she'd taken that. He didn't see Sam as being the jealous type, and he had no interest in the nurse. Gene cared about Sam, he knew that much, and he would stay true to his word; he would wait patiently for the end of the war, praying both he and Sam got through it unscathed so he could take her back with him to Louisiana. It was no longer a question of her _visiting_ ; he wanted her to come home with him, to live with him, to make a _life_ with him. He knew he wanted her with him no matter where his journey took him, knew that after spending all this time together, the bonds they'd forged weren't going to be broken so easily. He loved her, something he'd realized back in Paris, and he wasn't about to give her up without a fight.

The sound of a plane overhead startled him, and he glanced up, watching as one of their own whizzed overhead. Men's voices suddenly shouted out, filling the forest with a cacophony of elated screams and cheers. Gene immediately broke into a run, following the sound of men and smoke cannisters being thrown and igniting. As he reached the edge of the tree line, he darted out into the open field with the others, eager to see the planes and what they might be bringing.

Unfortunately, the men were met with a hail of bullets, and Gene was frozen, before a hand yanked his arm and dragged him back into the trees. He recognized sergeant Lipton as he stumbled behind a log.

"Cease fire!" Lipton cried as the boys angrily raised their rifles to shoot in retaliation. "Cease fire, God _damn_ it!"

"Sergeant, I don't understand! It was our own planes!" Gene immediately silenced himself as Lipton shushed him and the sound of bigger, heavier planes filled the air. Gene's eyes darted back to the sky.

"C-47s. They're bringing supplies," Lipton muttered. "It's a drop." He reached out and patted Gene's arm. "It's a drop! Come on!"

Gene leapt to his feet, eager to find a jeep and get into town. A drop meant supplies, and supplies meant more men saved from death. He contemplated, briefly, waking up Sam and Spina and asking them to go with him, but he figured he could find other men to do the job of playing pack horse. Sam and Spina needed their rest, so he'd let them sleep a while longer; he'd fill them in when he got back. "Sergeant, I need some men to go with me."

"Got it. I'll have them here in a sec," Lipton nodded, jogging off in another direction to find the men Gene needed.

Gene's eyes flickered back up to the sky, watching the planes drone by in droves.

8888

Gene returned just before dark, jumping off the jeep loaded down with men and supplies. They'd stopped at the aid station, dropping off things the medics couldn't carry in their bags; Gene had kept plasma, penicillin, bandages, sulfa, and a whole lot of morphine to distribute among the three Easy Company medics.

He expected Sam to find him; she seemed to have some sort of weird sixth sense about where he was and when he left or returned, and he wasn't disappointed to see her and Spina come jogging up, eagerly reaching for the things left in the boxes.

"Hey, Gene," Sam greeted with a smile. "Did you bring us presents?"

"Only the best," he agreed as sergeant Lipton and the other men piled out of the truck. "Thanks, sergeant," he said, and Lipton shot him a weary smile.

"Yeah boy. Oh, hey, Sam." Sam paused, turning to the sergeant curiously. "I brought ya somethin'; it's from one of the women in town who was handin' out supplies. I told her about you, and she wanted me to give these to you."

Curious, Gene watched as the sergeant pulled a pair of wool gloves, minus fingers, out of his pocket. Sam eagerly reached for them, a wide grin on her face that made Gene feel like smiling too.

"Thanks, Lip!" she said excitedly. "Oh man, gloves. Sweet, sweet gloves. This is the best."

Lipton nodded, looking pleased as he accepted her thanks, and then turned to head off to check on the boys and make sure the coats, blankets, and food they'd grabbed in Bastogne was distributed evenly. Gene watched him go, and then turned back to Spina and Sam, both of whom were talking quietly as they dug around in the supplies. Each of them stuffed their packs full until there was nothing left.

"Doc, Sam. I'm gonna go check on the boys and help Lip out. I'll see ya in a while."

"Right," Gene nodded. "I'll check on the men in the OP in a few minutes. I think they could probably use a blanket to keep warm." Ralph agreed and jogged off, leaving Sam and Gene alone. The jeep squealed off into the snow, the driver eager to get back to Bastogne and be of more use before it got too dark to find his way.

"Here, Gene."

Eugene was surprised when Sam gently took his hands, placing her new gloves in them. They were small, but just big enough that they'd probably fit his hands if they stretched. He glanced up at Sam and shook his head. "No, Sam, don't even start. Ya already gave me your scarf. I can't take your gloves too."

"Gene, if you don't take them, I'll sneak into your foxhole while you sleep and put them on your hands myself. Please. You still just have your crappy jacket and a measly scarf. You need to keep warm." She reached up, gently tapping his red nose, and he blinked, a smile worming its way onto his face.

Sighing in defeat (and knowing there was no arguing with someone like Sam when she made up her mind) Gene reluctantly took the gloves, slipping them on his hands. They fit well enough, if not a bit snugly, and he wiggled his fingers experimentally. "Sam…you sure?"

"Positive."

"All right. Thanks, _cher_. You sure are good at lookin' after me." He carefully reached out to take her hand in his, giving it a squeeze before dropping it; what he'd really like to do was lean over and kiss her cheek, but they had made a pact to be discreet, and he didn't want to get either of them in trouble.

"Someone has to. You don't even look after _yourself_. I'll take care of you though." She grinned, hand lifting to give his cheek a poke.

Gene returned the grin, tapping on her helmet with his knuckles. It seemed he'd been forgiven for any transgression he might have made in Sam's mind; he wondered if she'd even been mad at him to begin with. "I appreciate it, _cher_. I'll do my best to return the favor. Now we better get goin'. We got things to do and people to see. And I gotta go check on the OP."

"Right-o, Gene," Sam agreed. "I'm right behind ya."


	11. Nothing is Real

A/N: Here's where it gets a little emotional. It's really hard writing those types of scenes. I can only imagine.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

8888

" _There will be days when you feel defeated, exhausted, and plain old beat-up by life's whiplash. People you love will disappoint you - and you will disappoint them. You'll probably struggle with some kind of mortal appetite. Some days it will feel as though the veil between Heaven and Earth is made of reinforced concrete." -Sheri L. Dew_ _  
_ _  
_

 **Chapter 11: Nothing is Real**

The snow had cleared up the next morning.

Unfortunately, it seemed as though that was what the Germans were waiting for.

Sam sat huddled in a foxhole, eyes trained on the line and the cloud of snow and dust that had been kicked up by the enemy's movement. Further down the line to her left, she could just make out Gene doing the same. On her right, crouching behind some fallen logs, sat Spina, waiting for the call of a medic. Sam was stationed closer to Dog company because they'd recently lost a medic, and Spina was situated close to Fox for the same reason. They were to help out any man who was wounded, and had eagerly agreed.

Sam could vaguely hear Lipton down the line shouting orders, and heard a pair of boots crunch in the earth as someone dropped in the hole beside her, rifle aimed and ready as it was trained on the line. She looked over to see an unfamiliar man, his eyes dark and his jaw set with fierce determination. His insignia indicated he was a lieutenant.

"Lieutenant," she greeted, and he glanced at her with a nod.

"Sergeant. It's Speirs, if you were wondering."

Sam sucked in a breath; she'd heard stories about Speirs and about what he'd done on D-Day in Normandy. She didn't put much stock in stories, but seeing him face to face, she wasn't sure if they were all untrue. He looked like a hardened man, a real soldier's soldier. She'd bet her life on the story about his actions at Brecourt Manor on D-Day being true.

"I wasn't, sir," she replied, and he cocked a half-grin at her. She smirked in return. "But thanks for supplying. I'm Branigan. Uh, Sam, if you like." She nodded towards the line, and his eyes snapped back to it, jaw once more set with determination.

It didn't take more than a few seconds for all hell to break loose. The sound of gunfire was deafening, bullets whizzing past their ears as they returned fire and the Germans broke through the cloud of debris and snow they'd kicked up across the line. Sam's eyes widened slightly as she sat in the hole just behind Speirs, the sound of his gun loud in her ears.

She turned her head to the side, seeing Gene leap up and out of his hole and rush forward. He was already busy with someone who was hit, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she too would be called up.

"You okay, sergeant?" Speirs voice was calm compared to the chaos around them, and he was firing off shots as though he wasn't concerned about a thing in the world. Sam envied his cool collectedness, wondering where it came from. He was probably used to action like this.

"I'm good," she managed, stiffening her shoulders and leaning forward a little. The sharp and sudden cry of "MEDIC!" made her flinch, and before Speirs could react or say a word, she had leapt from her foxhole, darting towards the call just a few holes down the line. She didn't quite realize at first that Speirs had followed her, sliding into the foxhole behind her as she skidded to a halt beside the man who had been hit. Speirs and the other occupant of the hole continued firing, providing cover as Sam crouched over the wounded man.

He'd been hit in both arms, the bullets and shrapnel having pierced and shredded his skin; one arm was nearly gone, and she knew there was no hope for it. "Easy there, solider," Sam soothed, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. "I got ya." She pressed a hand against his cheek, patting it gently as she checked his pupils before suddenly realizing that his face looked mighty familiar. "James? What the hell?!"

Through teeth gritted in pain, James Barnes managed to grin, before waving his still somewhat good arm. "Hey there, doc. Fancy, uh, fancy seein' you here. Sorry I c-couldn't stay outta trouble. But you know me." He groaned as Sam pressed a hand against the bleeding of one of his arms. "Yow, easy!"

"Shut it, you chucklehead! Jesus Christ, you couldn't just keep your damn head down, could you?" Sam grouched, dragging bandages and sulfa from her pack. Speirs was suddenly bent over beside her, hands reaching for a bandage. "On his other arm," she instructed, already reaching for his left arm and dumping the sulfa on the shredded skin. James cried out in agony as it burned into the wound, but Sam ignored it. "Lieutenant, morphine, in my pocket. In the shoulder."

Speirs, who had already wound the bandage tight around the soldier's bleeding right arm, nodded and started digging into Sam's coat pocket before pulling out a syrette. He quickly stuck it into James's shoulder, and the man breathed a little easier as the pain was lessened for the moment. "Doc," Speirs said, glancing over his shoulder. "Doc, we gotta get you two outta here."

"Right," Sam agreed, tightening the final bandage on Barne's completely shredded arm, tying it under his armpit to stem the flow of blood. "Let's go. Grab his jacket!"

Speirs grabbed one side and Sam grabbed the other. "You'll be okay, James. We gotcha. We're gonna get you to an aid station. Just stay awake," she ordered as the two of them dragged the injured man off the line. They managed to dodge the whizzing bullets, and Sam thanked her lucky stars that none of them struck either her, Speirs or Barnes. The three of them broke through the brush surrounding the line, the sound of gunfire muffled the further away they got. A jeep squealed by, and Speirs flagged it down with a sharply barked order.

"Here!" he called, helping Sam drag James over to it. "Take this man and his medic to the aid station!" The jeep driver nodded, leaping out of the jeep to help Speirs and Sam haul James onto the front stretcher, getting him situated. James cried out in pain, but Sam shushed him with a few words, hands smoothing over his forehead before she circled around to the side of the jeep.

"Branigan." Speirs's voice made her pause, and she turned to look at him. "Thank you for taking care of one of my men. I appreciate it."

Sam smiled, inclining her head. "Of course, lieutenant. Any time. You stay safe, all right? Keep your head low."

"I'll do my best. You too, doc, you too."

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Sam had left James in the care of the capable medics at Bastogne; she didn't run into the pretty nurse that Gene had met a few days before, and assumed it was because she was too busy. The aid station was filled to capacity with men, and she stayed for a few hours, eager to help, before she was forced to go back to the line.

By the time she'd finished, the arms and the front of her jacket were stained a dark, dirty red, and she managed to shakily pry herself away from the makeshift aid station and into the muddy street. Men were running back and forth, shouting orders and carrying supplies. Sam ignored them, shoving her hands into her pockets as she squelched and slipped through the mud, making her way to the edge of the town.

Most of the jeeps she saw were either out driving back to the line, or waiting to be loaded with men or supplies, so Sam decided to walk back as far as she could before she could manage to hitch a ride on a leaving jeep. She didn't want to wait around, and if she started now, she might get back before it got too dark.

She'd been walking for a good half hour, trudging along the well-used road and the hard-packed snow, when she saw a jeep just up ahead, squealing its way through the trees. She flagged it down, and the jeep driver seemed reluctant to stop until the other occupant in the front forced him to slow down for her.

When Sam jogged up to the jeep, she was surprised to see Colonel Sink sitting in the front seat. "Sir!" she gasped with surprise. The colonel looked her up and down, and then motioned for her to get in the jeep.

"Come on then, sergeant. Ya'll look like you could use a break from walkin'. I'm headin' to Easy right now, so you're in luck."

Sam smiled gratefully, climbing into the back as the jeep took off again, tires squeaking across the snow. Sink turned slightly to look at her, a frown on his face. "Forgive me for sayin' so, sergeant Branigan, but you look like hell. You doin' all right?"

Sam couldn't even begin to count the amount of times people had asked her that question; it was beginning to get old. "I'm fine, sir. Just a little tired. I was at the aid station for a while helping out as best I could, but before that, I was on the line with Dog company. They're down a couple of medics, sir."

Sink nodded to himself as the jeep pulled deeper into the forest, and Sam could just make out the shapes of the men gathered up ahead, seemingly in line for food. Her stomach growled at the idea of being able to eat; she was starving. Sink's voice started her out of her hungry reverie, and she snapped her eyes back to him as he spoke.

"Well, sergeant, you just let me know if you need a break. I know things can get tough out here, and I'd understand. But you're doin' a hell of a job."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that, but I'd like to stay with the fellas. And I'm not doin' as much for them as our medic, Eugene Roe, is. That man hardly sleeps or eats for worrying and taking care of the boys."

Sink hummed quietly, as though considering her words, but said nothing more as the jeep finally rolled to a stop. Sam jumped out, smiling in thanks to the jeep driver. She turned to Sink. "Thank you, sir. Much obliged."

"Not a problem, sergeant," he replied as he turned and strode towards Winters, who was milling about with the men as they stood in line for food. "Well, they're sitting down for a Christmas dinner of turkey and hooch back at the comp'ny CP. Damned if I don't like ol' Joe Dominguez's rancid ass beans better. Hello, Easy Comp'ny."

"Hello, sir," the men chorused as Sam wove her way through them, looking for Gene. She paused just beside Shifty and Liebgott, the latter of who welcomed her back with a silent one-armed hug, handing over his tin of food. When she whispered a furious protest, he indicated Joe Dominguez, who still had plenty left over and that he'd get more. Sam quietly thanked him with a weary smile, digging into the food with gusto, no matter how terrible the taste; finding Gene could wait a moment in favor of filling her empty belly.

"Men! General McAuliffe wishes us all a Merry Christmas. What's merry about all this you ask? We've stopped cold everything that's been thrown at us from the north, east, south and west. Now two days ago, the German commander demanded our honorable surrender to save the U.S.A. encircled troops from total annihilation. The German commander received the followin' reply. 'To the German Commander: NUTS!'" There was a smattering of quiet laughter following the declaration.

"For givin' our country and our loved ones at home a worthy Christmas present and being privileged to take part in this gallant feat of arms, we are truly making for ourselves a Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas to you all, and God bless ya."

Sink patted Winters' shoulder and headed back to his jeep to a chorus of "Merry Christmas, sir!" from the men. Sam stayed squished between Liebgott and Shifty, enjoying what remained of the food before Joe took the empty tin back. She'd almost forgotten it was Christmas; she had a gift for Gene stashed secretly in her pocket that she'd gotten from the aid station, and was eager to find him and give it to him.

"Thanks, Joe," she muttered, feeling a little better with some food in her stomach. Joe nodded as he left for more food, and Sam went back to looking for Gene. He wasn't standing anywhere near the men, so at first, she didn't quite see him crouched down next to a tree. When she finally spotted him, she let out a sigh of relief, weaving through the men to get to him.

As she reached him, Sam had to pause at the look on his face; it reminded her of the men they'd seen when they'd first marched into the Ardennes, the ones that had warned them to get out while they could. She sucked in a sharp breath. That wasn't good; she'd need to find a way to get that look off his face and get him back to normal.

Crouching down beside him, Sam gently reached out to take the mess tin from his frozen hands, noting it was still full of food that had already gone cold. "Gene," she whispered, softly placing a hand on his arm. "Gene, are you all right?"

Gene blinked hard and jerked, his head snapping towards her as if just realizing she was there. "Sam?" he croaked, his voice breaking. Sam felt a thrill of alarm shoot through her as she gripped his arm with a little more pressure, urging him to stand.

Behind her, Winters was watching the two medics closely. He'd seen the look on Eugene's face and knew very well what it meant. He'd already resolved to check on the soft-spoken medic later that night when Sam had appeared out of nowhere and roused the Cajun from his stupor. The interaction was interesting, and Winters felt a little relieved as he watched, knowing Sam would look after Gene no matter what. The two seemed close, and he knew there was probably more going on there than just what was on the surface. As long as they were discreet and did their job, he could care less. Their compassion for each other and the men was admirable, and he needed medics like them around to help hold the company together.

He felt a faint smile curl over his face as Sam quietly and gently led Gene away to a foxhole for the night, presumably to look after him. Shivering slightly, Winters turned away, resolving to walk the line as it got dark.

Only a few hours later, he found Gene and Sam in a well dug foxhole, wrapped in a blanket, heads resting against one another. Eugene still looked too pale, too tired and fragile, but he could tell by the hard set of Sam's sleeping face and the way she leaned into the other medic that he would be well looked after. He crouched down beside the foxhole, his eyes straying to the German line as the sound of a voice, far off in the distance, sang the German version of 'Silent Night.'

When he looked back into the hole, he saw Sam was awake, her eyes staring up at him silently; she was shivering now that she was up and her body registered the cold. "Sir?" she whispered, but he made a 'stay' motion with his hand before she could try to get up. "Did you need somethin', sir?"

"No, Sam. I'm fine. How's Gene?"

"As…as well as can be expected, sir. I think he'll be okay." She scooted her head to the side just slightly to look at a sleeping Gene on her shoulder, frowning at the way his brows were pinched together and the strain on his face. "Eventually."

Winters nodded in understanding. "Get some sleep, Sam. I'll talk to you tomorrow, all right?"

"All right, sir. But you should rest too, ya know."

Winters half smiled, standing up without a reply as he walked back down the line. He could smell the faint scent of a fire, something that alarmed him as he quickened his pace just slightly, coming upon Harry Welsh and lieutenant Peacock warming their hands by a tiny flame. Although he didn't show it, he itched to put it out, unwilling to put anyone's life in danger for some warmth.

"Harry, fire's not a good idea."

"It's just for a little while. We're in a dell," Welsh replied in a mumble, body shivering.

"A dell? Like where fairies and gnomes live?"

"I swore I thought I could smell a fire," Nixon commented as he walked up out of the darkness and gloom. "I _did_ smell a fire." His eyes fixed on Winters, before they darted back to the little blaze. "Are you out of your mind?"

"No, we're in a dell."

"Huh?"

The scream of an incoming shell and the following flash of light from an explosion caused the men to scatter. Winters reached out and pushed Nixon to the ground with a shout of "Down!" but he wasn't fast enough to grab Welsh as he dove for cover. The next thing he knew, a shell exploded just feet away, and Harry was slammed back into the ground with a thud and a scream.

"Medic!" Winters yelled, scrambling back over to Harry, ignoring his helmet as it bounced off his head. Winters could hear Nixon on the radio, calling for a jeep to transport Welsh to the aid station. Dick's fingers scrabbled at Harry's already blood soaked pants, tearing a hole where the bleeding, gaping wound was. Welsh kept trying to grab his arms to get him away, the pain too great for him to take. "Peacock! Put that out!" Winters shouted, indicating the fire. The lieutenant quickly complied. "Medic! Roe! Sam!"

Back at the hole, Gene had jerked awake, fingers curled tightly in Sam's sleeve. He didn't seem aware of his surroundings, but his vice like grip on her jacket kept her from leaving, and she couldn't tug him free. "Gene, I gotta go. Captain needs us! Gene, _let go_ , please," Sam was pleading, trying to get him to loosen his fingers. They only tightened as he stared ahead, eyes unfocused as the shells exploded around them. "Gene!"

Two men were running towards their foxhole, and Sam could just make out Ralph and Babe, ducking for cover as a shell exploded behind them. "Doc! Let's go! Sam! Come on!"

"I can't!" Sam cried, still struggling to pull herself free of Gene's steel-like grip.

Babe pushed Spina into the hole, eager to get out of the open. "Is he hurt? What's going on?" Babe demanded, as Ralph immediately latched onto Gene's hands and began prying them off of Sam's jacket. Once he managed to do that, Sam jerked her head in a nod, taking off in the direction of Winters' scream. "Ralph, go see who else is hurt. Babe, get Gene the fuck up _out_ of that hole and send him after me when you do!"

Babe nodded once as Ralph leapt out of the hole, headed down the line to check on the men. Gene was huddling in the foxhole, blanket over his face as if trying to hide from the world. "Doc, get up! Cap'n is yellin'! Sam needs your help! Get up!"

"Okay," Gene mumbled, hands on Babe's arms, unable to stand and falling back into the hole. His eyes were still unfocused, glazed over as he tumbled back into his sleeping spot.

"Okay? Not okay lie down! Okay _get up_!" Babe commanded, and Gene mumbled again as he finally managed to get his feet under him, his eyes still wide and confused. "Jesus Christ!" In a sheer feat of muscle, Babe hauled the medic out of the hole, but something on Roe's belt cut deep into his hand as the medic scrambled up and out after Sam. Babe dropped back down with a yell. "AHH! My hand! My God _damned_ hand!"

Gene had managed to sprint haphazardly after Sam, overtaking her and passing her without even realizing it. Sam shot him a surprised look, trying to keep up as she ran in his wake. When she reached him, he had frozen to his spot just beside a writhing Harry Welsh. Winters was crouched over him, putting pressure on a gushing wound, and Nixon and Peacock were at his head, trying to get him to calm down and holding tight to his arms.

"Roe," Winters commander just as Sam darted past him, skidding to a stop on her knees at Winters' side.

She pushed Winters out of the way, dragging Harry's leg into her lap and felt Gene suddenly drop in next to her, sulfa packet in hand. Sam placed her hand on Harry's wound, blood squishing between her fingers, before reaching into her bag for her a bandage. "I gotcha, Harry. You'll be okay. Sulfa," she demanded, holding out a free hand for Eugene to give her the packet. He did and she ripped it open as Gene rooted in his pocket for the morphine, shoving it into Harry's opposite thigh.

"Elevate the head," he commanded, and Nixon and Peacock did as they were told so he could write a bloody 'M' on Harry's forehead. His hands strayed back to the wound, helping Sam put pressure on it as she tied the bandage tight.

A jeep driver jogged up a moment later, and the men lifted Harry as Gene instructed them to. "Get him up!"

Peacock, Nixon and Winters lifted Welsh and carried him to the jeep to get situated, leaving Gene and Sam alone for a brief moment.

Sam shot Gene a look, her brows furrowed. He could see the question in her eyes, the worry and the anger, and he didn't think he could face that right now. He was saved from doing so as Winters walked back over and crouched beside them.

"Eugene. Get yourself into town. Get a hot meal."

Gene nodded quickly, and hurried away from Sam's side to join Harry in the jeep. Sam didn't turn to watch him go as it squealed off into the darkness, feeling Winters hovering just at her elbow when she stood. Nixon returned a moment later, having sent Peacock off to check on some of the men.

"Sam?" Winters asked quietly. "Sam what happened? What's wrong with Gene?"

Sam shook her head, unwilling to speak and sighed. "I dunno, sir. But I'll take care of him."

"Sam, why don't you stick with us for the night?" Nixon suggested. "That way you won't be alone when you head back to your foxhole." He watched as Sam nodded numbly, not seeming to really hear what he was saying or see what was in front of her. He exchanged a look with Dick, and the two of them gently took her by the elbows, steering her to their foxhole. Winters slid in first, and Nixon helped to get Sam situated, gently nudging her in to sit beside Dick.

"I'm gonna go check on the fellas, make sure everyone's all right," Nixon said quietly. "I'll be back soon."

Winters nodded in affirmation, glancing at the female medic beside him who was still staring straight ahead. She blinked hard, and as Nixon moved off, Winters was surprised when she turned and buried her forehead in his shoulder. She was completely still and silent, so he knew she wasn't crying. _Poor kid. She probably just needs a break. I wish I could spare her from the line; I'd make her my runner for a few days. But she's too valuable right now._

He couldn't give her the break she so desperately needed, but he could offer her what comfort he could while he was here. He wrapped an arm over her shoulder, letting her press her face against his side, helping her for a moment to hide from the world that was so desperately and earnestly tearing her apart.

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Sam didn't really get to see or talk to Gene for a while after that. She wasn't sure if he was studiously avoiding her, or if she was subconsciously avoiding him, but she kept herself moving, kept busy, not giving herself time to think about what had happened the night Welsh was hit. Maybe she'd rather just avoid the entire conversation, she surmised, so she didn't have to deal with any more unpleasantness. If she waited long enough, maybe it would just go away.

She'd never given Gene his Christmas gift either, and it was still stuffed in her bag near the bottom; she'd have to find him eventually, but she made checking on the men and making sure they were all right her number one priority. Conversations and gifts could wait for later.

By January second, Easy had moved to the Bois Jacques, just outside of the town of Foy, which was currently occupied by the Germans. Sam followed at the tail end of the line, marching through the woods behind the men. She stayed close to Bull Randleman, who was also near the rear, as well as Christiansen, Hashey and Hoobler. She felt safe and comfortable with them.

Hoobler, Christiansen and Hashey broke off from the rest to do a scout in another direction, and Sam watched them go with concern as the men slowed to a crawl, reaching their intended destination.

"All right, boys," she heard Lipton call up ahead. "This is where we're diggin' in on the line. Make yourselves comfortable; we may be here a while."

Sam nodded to herself, before trotting after Bull, eager to help in whatever way she could. "Mind if I bunk with you for a while, Bull?" she queried, and the larger man looked down at her with a smile from around his ever-present cigar.

"Sure thing, darlin'. I don't mind in the least. You'll probably be better comp'ny than I could hope for."

Sam shot him a smile, waiting until he'd chosen his spot and pulled out his shovel. A few feet away, Shifty and Lipton started digging a hole on their own, though Sam knew Lip would probably never use it. He never stayed in one place long. She unhooked her own shovel from her belt, eagerly getting to work and helping Bull dig the hole. The ground was frozen solid, but it was amazing what the idea of being caught out in the open during a shelling could do for motivation. It took them only an hour to make some good progress, and soon enough, they had a relatively decent sized hole. They'd have to work on making it deeper and that would take a bit more time.

The sound of boots crunching in the snow made both she and Bull look up, Sam pausing a moment to wipe the cold, slick sweat from her forehead, wondering how she could manage to perspire even in the freezing hellhole that was the Bois Jacques. Hoobler was trotting towards them with Hashey, and he giddily crouched down at the edge of their started hole, holding out a gun for Sam to inspect.

"Lookee here, doc!" he cried, sounding like a kid at a candy store. Sam observed the weapon with little interest, raising a brow up at him. "Aw come on, don't tell me you're not impressed. It's a luger! I finally got one."

"Where'd ya get that?" Bull drawled, shovel speared into the dirt as he paused to listen to Hoobler's story.

"It was a hell of a shot," Hashey said from over his shoulder, and Sam glanced up at him. "We ran into a German officer on horseback. Hoobler shot him straight off his horse; clean through the head."

Hoobler grinned broadly, and Sam patted his arm, her smile more of a grimace; it wasn't that she wasn't happy for him, but she could do without the grisly story. "That does sound like a hell of a shot, Hoob. Congrats! I'm glad you finally got a Luger."

"Thanks, Sam! Hey, listen, I'm gonna go show Shifty and Lip. I'll be back by later to help ya with your foxhole, if you two want."

Sam and Bull nodded simultaneously, smiles on their faces. "Sure, thanks Hoob," Sam agreed. "Now go on. Go tell your heroic story to everyone; it's worth repeatin'."

"Yeah boy," Hoobler quipped, before he and Hashey jogged over to the next foxhole where Lipton and Shifty were working on digging.

Sam watched him go, before turning to Bull with a shrug, picking her shovel back up to continue working. She could hear Hoobler in the background, quietly exclaiming over his find, before Compton's voice floated over to her. He was nearing Lipton's foxhole with Malarkey, probably eager to discuss Dike or what the hell they were supposed to be doing way out here; she felt that, at the moment, they were sorta aimless without real competent leadership and desperately wished for Winters to return.

A few moments later, a shot rang out, and Sam let out a breath of air as Bull knocked her into the hole, pressing her to the dirt. Squirming and coughing up a mouthful of soil, Sam glared at Bull as she shimmied to the edge of the foxhole beside him, gazing over the lip. She could see Compton and Lipton, Shifty and Malarkey all peeking over the edge of their hole as well.

"Patrol?" Malarkey asked, loud enough for everyone around to hear.

"No, we woulda heard."

"One man," Compton commented. "Maybe a sniper."

"That was no rifle," Shifty muttered.

"What do you see Shift?" Lipton asked, relying on their sharpshooter to pick out the threat though the snow and the white of the forest.

"Nobody out there."

"Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh."

"Aw geeze! It's Hoob! He's shot!" Sam's head snapped towards Hashey who was standing up further down the line, a frantic look on his face.

"Sniper?!" Compton demanded.

"No, no he…he shot himself!"

Sam was up and out of her hole before Bull could even blink, racing along the snow towards Hashey. When she reached him, she smacked his arm, indicating he should lead her to Hoob. He did as she silently instructed, both rushing through the snow. When they approached him, Sam slid to her knees beside a writhing Hoobler, blood gushing from a wound on his leg. _Shit, shit, shit, shit,_ her mind supplied frantically. Frank Perconte was already beside Hoobler, and Sam was suddenly surrounded by men, all of them talking at once in distressed voices.

She could hardly think, hauling his leg into her lap. "Lip," she instructed, and the sergeant was already at her side, tearing into the layers of Hoobler's clothing with his trench knife.

"Doc, how bad is it?" he demanded, and Sam peered at it, fingers already frantically reaching for her bag and a tourniquet. First, she had to stop the bleeding before she could think to do much else. Her eyes darted to Lipton, and she mouthed to him to 'keep Hoobler talking.' Lipton obliged, he and the men around them muttering soothing words as Hoobler squirmed in their arms.

"Hurts like a sonuvabitch!" Hoobler cried, breathing heavily. "Think maybe I hit bone, doc!"

"I gotcha Hoob," Sam muttered, wrapping the leather of her tourniquet around his leg and pushing the stick through. Her fingers worked quickly as they tightened it, but blood kept spurting up from the wound, coating his clothes, her fingers, her arms as she pressed them onto it to keep a steady pressure. "Did you think it was a _German_ leg Hoob?" She glanced at Lipton again, and then quickly at Buck. "Get him warm, Buck! Keep him warm!"

Buck obliged, pulling off his outer coat and frantically wrapping it around Hoobler. "You're gonna be okay, Hoob. Gonna be okay."

"Hey Lip," Hoobler warbled weakly, and Sam hunched over his leg, fingers digging into the wound in a desperate bid to reach whatever had been severed; she was sure it was an artery. If she could grab it, maybe she could pinch it closed. Maybe he stood a chance. Her fingers scrabbled through blood and bone and muscle, desperately searching and reaching. "You said I was a good shot, right?"

"The best Hoob. The best shot," Lipton agreed, before he turned to Sam. "Doc?"

"I can't see anything," she snarled, fingers still desperately reaching as the blood spurted onto her hands and jacket. "We need to get him to an aid station." The leg she was holding was far too still for her liking, but she kept searching, kept looking. "Call a jeep, hurry!"

"Doc… _Doc_!"

Sam jerked her head up to meet Compton's gaze, and then glanced down at Hoobler. His eyes were wide, sightlessly staring up into the sky. His skin was pale from blood loss, and she knew she was too late; he'd severed the femoral artery in his leg, and she hadn't been able to do a damn thing about it. She felt Lipton sigh beside her, dropping to the snow in defeat, and the men around her slumped in on themselves, their faces awash with disbelief at what had just happened.

Sam carefully lifted her hands from Hoobler's leg, feeling the warm, sticky blood start to cool and freeze against her skin almost instantly. "Hoob?" she asked softly, as though he might answer. With shaky arms, she managed to push herself up and away from him, gazing down at the men huddled around their fallen friend's body but not really seeing them.

Lipton was watching Sam with a concerned gaze, rising to his feet and trusting Buck to take care of the situation. "I'll uh…I'll go inform Captain Winters," he intoned quietly, and Compton nodded in agreement. Lipton gently grabbed Sam's elbow, hands sliding along the blood soaked fabric as he guided her away. She stumbled blindly forward, not seeming to be paying any attention to where she was going. "Doc?"

"Sorry, Lip," she replied shakily, and blinked hard before she looked at him. "I'm really sorry. I couldn't do _anything_. I couldn't help him. I-I couldn't…"

"Sam, that's…that's not your fault. He probably, uh…he probably hit that artery in his leg. Look, let's get you back to Bull. I think you should sit down for a while." He watched as she nodded numbly, allowing him to steer her back to her foxhole. When they reached it, Bull Randleman took one look at the pale, shivering female medic, and instantly opened his arms to take her from Lipton, gently guiding her to sit at the edge of the foxhole while he worked on digging it. Lipton trusted Bull to look after Sam, and nodded to the man before he jogged off to the company CP to make his bleak report to their former captain.

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It was a day later that Gene finally found his way back to her, finding her sitting stoically in Bull Randleman's foxhole, silently waiting for the man to return from checking the line and helping others dig their hole.

Sam had truly, truly tried to help the others, and had made a pretty good effort and headway on Shifty's foxhole, but she felt like the fight had been knocked clean out of her. Shifty had sent her back to her own hole with a stern reprimand and a gentle plea to get some rest, and she'd blindly stumbled off.

She wanted to sleep, to rest, but every time she closed her eyes, Hoobler's pale face flashed across her mind, and she'd jerk awake with a start. Each time, Bull had wrapped an arm over her shoulder, whispering quiet, comforting words that she didn't really hear, but distantly appreciated nonetheless.

That was how Gene found Sam, huddled in the corner of a foxhole, eyes wide and chest heaving, looking as though she'd just seen a ghost. "Sam?" he called, alarmed at her appearance. He hadn't meant to stay away from her for so long, but after that night Harry was wounded…He didn't think he had it in him to try and explain his mind to her, or where his thoughts had been. He was getting better, though, trying to push past the darkness that had crept into his heart and frozen his body and his soul. It was making him numb to the world, but being with her always brought some warmth back to him, and he couldn't stay away much longer.

He appreciated that she was trying to give him space too; she probably didn't want to talk about it either, or knew he didn't feel up to discussing things, so she did the only thing she could do: she left him alone. Now though, he needed to be next to her, needed some form of comfort, but was worried that he'd come too late to find it here. She looked like she was in need of comfort more than him.

When she didn't respond to his question, he slid into the foxhole, gently resting alongside her and taking her freezing hands in his. The gloves she'd given him had served him well, and although they were stained and bloody, they were still warm. The iciness of her skin alarmed him, and her rubbed his fingers along her knuckles to try and warm them up. "Sam, talk to me. What's wrong?" He watched as she slowly turned her head to face him, her eyes going wide before she blinked and they refocused again on his face, seeming to recognize him.

"Gene? Hey," she greeted, her voice cracking slightly. "How ya doin'? You okay? You need anythin'?"

Jesus Christ, she was asking how _he_ was? His eyes took in her appearance, her uniform that was stained red with old, dried blood, and her dirty fingernails and fingers, dyed crimson from the gore they'd been working in. "I'm fine, Sam. But what about you? What's wrong?" When she didn't reply, he gently reached up and pressed a hand to her cheek, watching as she flinched at his touch. "Hey, talk to me, _cher_. You know you can."

"Sorry, Gene…it's just… _Sorry_. I-I haven't been sleeping well. I think I'm a little tired. But I'll be fine." She shot him a watery smile, and he saw some of her steely resolve return, familiar fire burning in her eyes. "I promise, Gene. I'll be fine." She lifted her free hand, mimicking him and gently pressing it against his cheek. He subconsciously leaned into her touch, having missed this closeness with her, having missed _her_.

"Hey, Gene, can you stay here for the night? I mean, ya know…If not, it's okay. I just…was hopin' you could."

The quiet question brought a surge of protectiveness coursing through Eugene; he hated to see the usually feisty woman he knew sound and look so broken down. He really hoped she'd be all right. This broken girl before him was nothing like the Sam he knew, and it worried him immensely.

"Of course, _cher_. I'll stay as long as you want me to." He settled down next to her, wrapping an arm over her shoulder as she curled against him, face pressed into his jacket. "I promise, I ain't goin' nowhere." Silence descended on them, and it was still and quiet in the cold of the foxhole.

"Eugene?"

"Yeah?"

Her voice was muffled from where it pressed into the fabric of his jacket, but when he looked down at her, he could see her eyes were wide open, staring off into the distance. "I think I understand what happened that night."

Gene didn't say anything; he just pulled her closer, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, willing her to be all right.


	12. We'll Be Here When You're Gone

A/N: Another chapter! I love the reviews I've been getting. You guys are so wonderful; thank you so much.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _Anyone with a heart, with a family, has experienced loss. No one escapes unscathed. Every story of separation is different, but I think we all understand that basic, wrenching emotion that comes from saying goodbye, not knowing if we'll see that person again - or perhaps knowing that we won't." -Luanne Rice_ _  
_

 **Chapter 12: We'll Be Here When You're Gone**

They spent more than a few days dug in on the line, mostly complaining about Dike and his leadership, or lack thereof.

They had a few men wounded, Joe Toye among them, but they were sent back to the aid station after being patched up. Gene stuck close to Sam when he wasn't busy running the line, and he was relieved to see her slowly getting back to her old self. There was still a darkness in her eyes that haunted him, but for the most part, she was up and moving again, keeping busy and checking on the fellas.

Currently, Sam was steering as clear as she could of a camera, of all things, that was going around filming some of the men. She was watching from beside a tree, mess tin clutched in her hand. She'd been on her way to get some food when she'd noticed the camera and resolved not to catch the attention of the men behind it.

As she watched, however, a familiar face appeared, and Sam was surprised to see Joe Toye already back from the aid station. He was speaking into the camera, before he was accosted by Winters, who spoke quietly to him, motioning to his arm. Joe shook his head, reaching up to remove the sling that was keeping his arm pressed against his chest, and then turned and walked towards her.

Sam shot Winters a look over Joe's shoulder, and he shrugged in a 'what can you do?' sort of way as Toye reached her. "Hey there, Joe," Sam greeted, extended a free hand to clap him on the arm that had been injured. He half smiled down at her, but winced when she made contact. "Uh-huh. That's what I thought. What are you doing back here, Joe? You should still be at the aid station." Regardless of her chiding tone, she still fell into step beside him as she led him towards the chow line.

"Eh, it was boring there, doc. I'd rather be here with the men. And it doesn't hurt too bad, ya know?"

"Right, that'd why you made that face when I touched your arm?"

Joe rolled his eyes, just as an enthusiastic Bill turned and saw them, eagerly heading towards his friends and offering Joe a heart handshake. Sam didn't miss the wince Joe made when Bill did so, but he took it admirably. She rolled her eyes; ugh, men.

"'Ey, Joe, good to see ya pal."

"You too."

"What the hell are you doin' back here?"

"I asked him the same thing," Sam grouched, clutching her tin plate in her hands and shaking her head.

"I had to make sure you guys were on top of things, Sam," Joe remarked good naturedly, and Bill clapped his shoulder.

"I'm on top of things. Tied me own boots once last week, all by meself."

Joe chuckled as Bill pulled him to the front of the line, and Sam easily situated herself at the back, wrapping her arms around herself as she got in line behind Johnny Martin. He turned and shot her a wink, and she responded with an easy grin as Skip greeted Joe up ahead with an enthusiastic cry of "Joe Toye! Back for more!"

"Yeah, I escaped from the aid station," Joe agreed.

"Where'd you get hit?" the man in front of Martin asked, and Joe gave him a sour look that made him snap his mouth shut.

"Who's that?" 

"Web," Sam supplied, indicating the boy with a rough pat on his shoulder. He looked at her gratefully, as if glad of some support. "A replacement." His scowl conveyed that he was annoyed by her immediate betrayal and she chuckled.

"Really? I thought it was some guy I knew for two years and I forgot his face.

"Joe got hit in the arm. New year's eve gift from the Luftwaffe," Penkala informed Web, reaching forward to take Sam's tin and replace it with his own. He cut in front of Skip and filled her mess kit, before pulling her out of the line with a wink. "Here ya go Sam." He switched tins again, and Sam eagerly dug into her food, ignoring the laughter from the man next to her.

"Shut up, Penk. I'm hungry, okay?"

"You're _always_ hungry," he replied with a good natured nudge.

"Lotta you guys been injured?" Web asked, looking back at Martin, who scoffed.

"It's called wounded, peanut. Injured's when you fall out of a tree or somethin'."

Sam would've agreed, but her mouth was full at the moment. She and Penkala made their way over the group of men sitting near the makeshift mess tent, and she squeezed in easily between Popeye Wynn and Joe Liebgott.

"Hey there, doc. How ya been?" Liebgott greeted, and Sam responded with a muffled reply of "Fine," cheeks still stuffed with food as she chewed. Liebgott seemed to find that entertaining, if the grin spreading over his face was any indication. Penkala settled on Joe's other side, digging into his own food with gusto.

"Don't worry," Skip drawled to the replacement. "There's enough crap flying around here, you're bound to get dinged sometime. Almost every single one of these guys has been hit at least once…" He paused as he stopped by Alley, and Sam shot the man a look, which he returned, knowing he was thinking of Holland and the grenade that had sent him to the hospital, same way she was. "'Cept for Alley: he's a two timer. He landed on broken glass in Normandy and got peppered by a potato masher in Holland."

Alley dipped his remaining bread into Skip's mess tin, sticking it in his mouth and chewing slowly. "You'll find out, son," he mumbled around his mouthful as Skip and Web moved on.

"Now Bull," Skip continued, pausing by Bull Randleman, who's gaze lowered to his boots. "He got a piece of exploding tank in Holland." They moved on to Luz. "And George Luz here has never been hit. You're one lucky bastard!" He patted George's arm, leading Web away.

"Takes one to know one, Skip," Luz said between mouthfuls of food.

"Eh," Skip replied, shrugging. "Consider us blessed. Now Liebgott, that skinny little guy." He pointed to Joe, who sat beside Sam. She glanced to the side, and then up at Skip, the faintest traces of a smile on her face. "He got pinked in the neck in Holland. And the doc there, Sam? Well, she got hit in the arm in Holland. Nearly lost the _whole_ arm." That was an exaggeration, and Sam rolled her eyes, chewing fitfully to hide her grin. "And right next to her, that other skinny little guy, that's Popeye. He got shot in his scrawny butt in Normandy."

"And Buck got shot in his rather _large_ butt in Holland!" Malarkey called, and Sam craned her neck to see Buck just behind her, pointing to his ass with a grin. She shook her head.

"How's the ass, lieutenant? Still good?"

"Still good, Sam," he replied, his grin widening. " _Thank you_ for being so kind as to ask."

"Anytime, sir."

"It's kind of an Easy Company tradition, getting shot in the ass," Penkala remarked as Web, Skip and Malarkey settled down beside them.

"Hey, even first sergeant Lipton over there," Skip crowed, pointing to Lipton who was standing next to Bill, leaning against a tree. "He got a couple pieces of a tank shell burst in Carentan. One chunk in the face. The other chunk almost took out his nuts."

"Yeah, how are those nuts, sarge?"

"They're fine, Bill," Lipton replied tiredly. "Nice of you to ask."

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The next day, January third, the men moved out to retake their old position overlooking Foy.

Gene and Spina went with them, but Sam elected to stay behind with the men who remained attached to Dog company. She was sitting at the edge of a foxhole with Christiansen, Web and Perconte. Frank was brushing his teeth, and Sam glanced at him in annoyance, arms wrapped around herself in a bid to keep warm as she shivered violently. "Jesus, Frank. Is now _really_ the time to be brushing?"

"Sam, dental hygiene is no laughin' matter. I gotta make sure I keep my pearly whites lookin' spick and span."

"You know excess brushing can _ruin_ teeth, right?"

"What?" he yelped, looking devastated.

The men who were heading to their old position were walking by, and they paused to call out greetings. Gene, ever the dutiful medic, appeared out of nowhere and crouched down beside Sam. "How are you on supplies? You okay?" The quiet intensity of his stare told Sam that he wasn't just asking her if she had enough bandages and morphine; he was concerned about her well-being as well.

"I'm good, Gene," she replied, uncurling her arms to give his knee a pat. His brows furrowed, and she chuckled. " _Really_. All good here. I'll send Frank if I need anything; he's fast. Like a tiny, Italian racehorse."

"God damn it, Sam," Frank muttered, but didn't stop his tooth brushing.

"All right," Gene replied, looking less uncertain. He gently reached out and gave her helmet an affectionate tug, before standing to rejoin the men. "Look after yo'self. I'll see you soon enough."

"You too Gene. Stay safe."

As Gene jogged off, Skip and Penkala waltzed by, and Skip rapped on Sam's helmet, earning a muttered curse from the female medic. "Hey, keep outta trouble, doc!" he said jovially, and Penk followed suit with a friendly nudge with his boot.

"Yeah, keep that red-head of yours down, all right?"

"You boys stay safe too," Sam commented, and they walked off with a laugh, quickly rejoining the men who were walking past. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"Yeah right, doc!" Skip called back, walking backwards as he grinned at her.

"If we did that," Penkala continued. "We'd live a very boring life!"

Sam stuck her tongue out at them, regretting it almost instantly when the cold air hit it and made her shiver violently. The two men laughed loudly, disappearing into the group of soldiers that brushed past the foxhole and their comrades who remained behind.

"Good luck, ladies!" Bill quipped as he strolled through the clearing, and Sam frowned at him, annoyed at the insult.

"Been nice knowin' ya," Toye warned, winking at Sam as he followed after the Philadelphian sergeant.

"Wouldn't drink too much if I were you," Alley commented, and Malarkey jokingly swiveled to face them.

"Be careful if he offers you a cigarette."

"What's talking about?" Web asked, looking between Frank and Christiansen. "If _who_ offers us a cigarette?" Sam waved at the men as they left, though it was more of a frozen jog than a wave.

Sam had her suspicions that they were talking about Ronald Speirs, the Dog Company lieutenant and platoon leader she'd met the day that James Barnes had been hit during the German attack. Some of the men said he shot one of his own sergeants for being drunk on D-Day, and that he'd killed a bunch of German POWs after giving them cigarettes. She'd heard the stories, but now she'd also met the man, and she didn't put much stock in them. He was a hard faced soldier—hard-nosed and hard assed too—but he was a good commander and leader, and she got the idea that he would die for his men. He reminded her of a more battle-worn, darker version of Captain Winters. He was a man who could be feared and respected, and a man that his soldiers would follow into hell if he asked them to.

"Speirs," Christiansen replied.

"Who?" 

"Lieutenant Speirs." He shrugged, lining up the sights on his machine gun. "Anyway, the stories about Speirs are probably all bullshit. Right, Sam?"

Sam shrugged; she thought they probably were, but that was something no one would ever really know, unless Speirs actually told them. She admitted she was curious; he seemed okay enough to her, but she hadn't really held much of a conversation with the man. He was nice, she supposed, a good solider, and she guessed that was really the only thing that mattered at this point. Maybe if she ran across him again, she'd ask him. Skip, Penk and Malarkey would probably call her crazy and give her hell if she did, but it was a small price to pay for satisfied curiosity.

"What stories?" Web demanded, now looking between all three of the older soldiers. "Come on. What _stories_?"

"Well, supposedly there's a story about Speirs shooting one of his own men for being drunk," Frank supplied as he fiddled with his toothbrush.

"You're kidding," Web awed. "That's unbelievable!"

"Yeah, and there's another one about him giving cigarettes to twenty German POWs…before killing them." Christiansen snapped something on his machine gun, satisfied that it looked to be in top shape, and then turned to rifle around in his pack.

"He shot _twenty_ POWs?"

Frank stopped brushing. "Well, actually, I heard it was more like _thirty_."

"Christiansen. Branigan."

All four heads shot up to see Speirs appear from the white mist surrounding them, as though he'd melted out of the forest. Sam was surprised that none of them heard him coming; usually the crunch of snow was a good indicator of an approaching solider, but Speirs had arrived as silently as a cat. She watched him kneel down beside their foxhole, arms still wrapped solidly around herself for warmth.

"Lieutenant Speirs?" Christiansen asked.

"I got that right? It's Christiansen, isn't it?" Speirs affirmed, his eyes darting to each occupant of the hole. Besides Pat, he only knew Sam; the names of the other two he had no idea of.

"Yes, sir."

There was a beat of awkward staring before Speirs asked: "What are you men doin' out here?"

"We're…watching the line, sir." Christiansen exchanged a look with Sam, and she shrugged, rocking a little to try and generate some warmth in her bones.

Speirs seemed to nod, lips pursing. "Keep up the good work. And while you're at it, you might want to reinforce your cover."

"Oh, well, actually sir, Lieutenant Dike said not to bother; that we were only gonna be here one day," Frank replied, and Sam nudged him, shaking her head. He gave her a look, as if to ask what he did wrong, but she simply rolled her eyes; trust Frank not to realize when he was being rude to an officer.

"Lieutenant Dike said that, huh? Well, then forget what I said." Speirs' eyes strayed to Sam, and he stood up, motioning for her to follow him. "Sergeant. Can I have a word?"

Sam nodded, scrambling up and out of the hole, shoving her hands into her pockets. She could feel the sharp gaze of the men on her back, probably concerned that she was going off to her doom.

"Oh," Speirs paused, turning back around to the men. Sam met Christiansen's eyes, which were wide, mouth parted slightly as though he wanted to call her back. "Anyone care for a smoke?" The three men didn't reply, Web even shaking his head so hard that his helmet bounced comically from side to side. Sam stifled a smile, trying to keep her face schooled into a serious expression. At their refusal, Speirs said nothing, but turned back around to join Sam, and the two walked off into the snow.

"You're very serious, sir," Sam quipped, shooting him a look from beneath her helmet as they walked. "I think you kinda scare them."

"But not _you_ , sergeant?" Speirs asked, the faintest traces of an amused smirk curling at the corners of his lips. Sam shrugged nonchalantly, the cold making her shiver and seeping through her many layers. She desperately wished for a new scarf, or some gloves, or _another_ jacket. _Anything_ to get her warm.

"Nah, not really, sir. Besides, I owe you one. You helped me out with Barnes when he got hit that day on the line. I figure if you're willing to run into German fire, then you can't be all bad. No offense intended, sir."

"None taken, doc. Barnes is going to be fine, by the way. They transferred him back to England for good. His war's over, but he's alive because of you. You didn't seem concerned about the bullets whizzing by you either, I noticed."

"I'm glad he's going to be okay, that chucklehead…" Sam shrugged. "Ehs, heat of the moment. I guess the more you stop to think, the less you can get accomplished. You just gotta put your head down and move forward."

"A good way of thinking," Speirs agreed. "We could use medics like you in Dog Company. Have you thought about transferring, maybe?"

"No thank you, sir. I like it right where I am."

"Well, if you change your mind, Branigan, just let me know. I think you got spunk, and I like that." Sam shot him a curious stare, rewarded with a grin from the usually stoic, hard-faced lieutenant. "What can I say? Women with moxie are my kind of women." He winked, and Sam chuckled, recognizing that he was only joking. The very fact that he could joke surprised her; he didn't look like the type.

"Yeah, yeah. I've _never_ heard that one before, sir. Anyway, I'll be here another day with Dog Company, and then we're movin' back to Easy. If you need anything for you or the boys, or if someone needs help, just let me know. I'll do what I can to get what you need and patch the guys up. It's kind of what I do best, sir."

"Sounds good, doc. You stay safe and keep low. Maybe if we ever make it back to England, I could buy you a drink and you could tell me how you ended up out here with the men."

Sam smiled, nodding. "Sounds feasible, sir. And maybe you could tell me if the stories about you are all true."

Speirs smirked, before picking his way off through the trees. "It's a deal, sergeant." Sam watched him go until the falling snow swallowed him up, her smile still on her face as she turned and trudged back to her shared foxhole.

The boys were _never_ gonna believe her when she told them this.

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Sam had thought she was going to head back to Easy, but instead, she found herself at the aid station at the rear. They were short on medics, competent hands few and far between at this point in the war, and so Sam volunteered to help. She figured it would be a few days of just running around and giving people a hand, but she ended up being far busier than anticipated, and the head medics decided she should stay a while longer. The men attached to Dog Company had gone to join Easy on the line, and Sam was just glad they were all in one place. She knew the NCOs would keep a sharp eye on them.

The aid station was inundated with wounded men, most of them hit by flying shrapnel or tree burst. Sam rushed from man to man, bandaging, calming, feeding, or generally monitoring wounds and vitals for each. She was currently in the middle of checking in new arrivals; new men had been brought in off the line with severe injuries, placed in the back of the tent while she'd been taking a break for some food. They were going to be immediately transferred to England, but it was her job to be certain their wounds had been treated and wrapped properly before they were taken off the line for good.

As she walked into the tent, pushing back the flap, Sam scanned the beds before she saw the two new arrivals, and her heart leapt into her throat, blood going cold. "Jesus _Christ_ ," she whispered, rushing over to the cots that housed Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere. "Bill, Joe! What the actual _fuck_! What happened?!"

Bill was laying back in his bed, one arm flopped over his face, but looked up sharply when he heard Sam's voice. Joe's eyes were hooded, and he managed to turn his head to see the woman rushing over to their side. "Hey there, doc," Bill greeted tiredly, and Sam's horrified gaze roved over him, down to his leg, which had been wrapped up in preparation for his transfer back to England. He watched her fingers twitch towards the bandages, sorrow written across her face as she did so.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," she murmured, and Bill grabbed the hand reaching for his leg, gently taking it between both of his own hands.

"Don't you worry about it, Sam. We been through worse shit than this. We'll be up and givin' them doctors and nurses hell before ya know it."

"Yeah," Joe croaked, and Sam whipped around, her fingers instantly reaching out to press against Joe's cheek. He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of her hands as Sam's eyes darted down to his missing leg. "We'll be fine, Sam. We're headed back to England, and we'll be off the line. And the doctors will fix us up in no time."

"But Joe…your leg…"

"Just a scratch," he said with a grin that was more of a grimace. "I'll survive."

Sam felt tears pricking at the corner of her eyes, but resolutely blinked them away, unwilling to let the two sergeants see her cry. She sat down between them, one hand in Bill's hand and the other in Joe's, and talked quietly with them until the men came to take them away to England and she said her goodbyes. They promised to write, she promised to write, and Sam watched as they were carried off, never to return to the war again.

Only a few days after Joe and Bill left the aid station, Sam, who had resolutely remained there to help with the men and the wounded, was surprised to see another familiar face.

Buck Compton came in on his own steam, being led through the tent flap by a tired looking medic, who situated him in a bed near the door. Sam looked up from wrapping a bandage around the arm of a Fox Company private, spying Compton's familiar shock of white blonde hair. "Buck?" she murmured, quickly turning back to the man she was tending. She finished wrapping his wound, and gently sat him down on one of the cots. "Stay here for a while, soldier, and rest up. You don't have to go back yet." The wounded man smiled gratefully, leaning back on the bed with a sigh.

Sam stood, grabbing a grubby towel to clean off her blood stained hands, before she wove her way through the tent and over to Buck's cot. He was laying on it, his back to her, with his knees curled up to his chest and his arms tucked close to his body. He was a big man, but in that moment, he looked so small and frail and fragile. Sam scooted around to the other side so she could see his face, but he didn't seem to acknowledge her presence, not even when she eased down to sit on his cot beside him. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm and he flinched hard.

"Sam?" he asked, eyelids fluttering as he finally looked up at her. Sam was startled to see the redness rimming his blue eyes, and the way they watered slightly when he looked at her. "That you?"

"Yeah, Buck. It's me," she said quietly, reaching forward and pressing her hand against his forehead. He didn't flinch this time, but his eyes did close as he leaned back under her touch, breathing sawing in and out quickly, as though he was trying very hard not to cry. "Are you okay, Buck? Why are you here?" She could see no obvious signs of a wound, but then again, that didn't mean he wasn't hurt.

"I, uh…I just…" Buck mumbled, his eyes still closed. Sam shushed him, running her hand over his forehead and hair, trying to comfort him.

"Shh, it's okay, Buck. I…understand. You'll be all right. We'll get you back to England. You'll be okay."

She stayed by Buck's side for quite some time, gently running her hand along his hair, and he seemed to draw comfort from her closeness and her touch. Sam was willing to do whatever it took to keep him together, if only until they could get him back to England and get him some help. She wasn't sure what this was, exactly, but it was the kind of thing she filed away for later, something to look up and research to see how she could fix it. His wounds weren't physical—despite the claim that he had a bad case of trench foot—they were mental. She couldn't heal those sorts of wounds.

A few hours later, Sam's back ached from sitting too long, and Buck was almost asleep when she heard boot steps crunching towards them through the tent. Sam glanced up to see a hesitant looking Malarkey lingering awkwardly by the bed, and she quietly waved him over. He gratefully approached, sitting on a stool on the other side of the cot.

"Hey, Sam…How have you been?" he asked quietly.

"I'm okay, Don. You?"

"Good, good." Malarkey bit his lip, his eyes flickering down to Buck. "And how's…how's Buck doing?"

Sam shook her head, and Don's face crumpled as he gazed down at the lieutenant; Compton was one of his best friends, besides Muck, Penkala, Toye and Bill, and Sam knew that losing three of them in such a short time was a real blow to her fellow Irishman. "I'll give you some time with him," Sam murmured, gently unwinding the hand Buck had clenched in her jacket, more for a comforting anchor to something familiar than to keep her there. His fingers were like a vice, but her delicate touch easily pulled them away. "Lieutenant. Malarkey is here to see you. I gotta go check on some of the men, but I'll be back, okay?" She smoothed a hand over his forehead as he nodded haltingly, feeling her heart ache for the man he used to be, and who might be lost forever.

She stood, patting Don gently on the shoulder. "Look after him. I'll be back soon, okay?" When Malarkey nodded, pulling a letter from his pocket for Buck, Sam moved off to check on her other patients.

She met up with the head medic—a surgeon really—at the front of the tent; his name was Fred Cranston, and he was a good guy, if not a bit of a stickler for rules. Sam could appreciate the fact that he tried to keep order in the chaos around them, and they got along pretty well. She tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned, charts in hand. "Branigan," he greeted in a low voice. Sam discovered that he always talked very quietly, as if afraid he'd disturb someone.

"Lieutenant," she replied, echoing his soft voice. "Just tell me where to go and what to do."

An hour later, Malarkey sought Sam out, finding her outside with a clipboard in her hand, inventorying the supplies that the aid station had and directing men on where to take them or what to do with them. She looked up as he approached, pen stilling on paper, and handed her clipboard over to a corporal who had been helping her direct traffic. She muttered something to him and he nodded, immediately taking over where she left off as she jogged over to meet Malarkey halfway.

"Hey, Don. Buck still doin' okay?"

"As good as he can be doin', doc," Malarkey admitted softly, his face troubled. "Uh, when are you heading back out to the line? I know the boys are missing you. Gene especially." He tried to smile, but it felt like more of a pained grimace to him.

"I'll be back soon," Sam assured. "I'm just needed here right now. They're a wee bit short on medics. Hey, listen." She turned and indicated he should follow her, leading him over to a crate near the edge of the tent and digging around in the box. "I need you to take some things to Gene and Spina for me. And this." When she straightened, she was holding a small, black book, the gold lettering on the front proclaiming it was a copy of the Bible. "This is for you and Skip and Penkala. I know it's not much but…Well, I know you guys haven't had one in a while, and sometimes…" She shrugged. "Faith is all that keeps us going. I figured you might want it."

Malarkey was touched by the present, taking the precious gift in his hands and placing it in his front pocket. "Thank you, Sam…It means a lot to us. I know it'll mean a lot to the other boys too." He didn't put much stock in prayers lately, but it was the thought that counted.

"You're welcome, Don. Now here." She handed him a box filled with blankets, gloves, bandages, sulfa and morphine. "Please, get these to Gene and the rest of the boys. I know they could use them out there on the line. And come back to visit Buck before he goes to England. I know it would mean a lot to him."

Don took the box gratefully, knowing the supplies would make a big difference to a lot of men. "Of course, Sam. I will." He leaned into her when she awkwardly reached out to hug him around the box, arm warm against his cold shoulders. "I'll see you soon, okay? You take care."

"You too, Don," Sam called as he turned and jogged away, off to a waiting jeep that could take him back to the line. "And tell the boys I said hello."

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The next time she saw Don, two days later, Sam felt all of the breath being knocked out of her at once.

She'd never seen any man look the way he did, like he was already dead even while he kept on his feet. She immediately stopped what she was doing, leaving her charts on the hood of an unused jeep and quickly weaving her way towards him. When she reached Malarkey, he looked at her through hooded, red-rimmed eyes, and she recognized it as the same look Buck had given her the day he'd arrived at the aid station.

"God, Don, what happened? Are-are you all right?" she demanded, her hands instantly reaching for his arms and pulling him closer to her for a loose hug. He leaned into her touch, before he pulled away slightly and shook his head.

"Skip…Skip and Penk…" he murmured, and felt his heart shatter into a million pieces all over again as he watched Sam's face crumble in absolute grief. Not caring about propriety or how it might look, he immediately wrapped his arms around her, feeling her fingers dig desperately into the fabric of his jacket as she clung to him like a lifeline. He could feel her shaking in his grip, quiet sobs muffled by the lapels of his coat as she buried her face against his chest. He didn't have the words to soothe her, didn't know what to say, but he held her to him, his own tears stinging his eyes as the harsh wind tore at his cheeks.

They stayed that way for a few minutes until Sam's tears dried themselves out and she looked up at him with large, puffy eyes. "Christ, I'm…Don, I'm so sorry…I…I wish I could have been there, could have done something. Maybe I could have-"

Malarkey shook his head, and felt her fingers clench against in the cloth of his jacket, new tears threatening to spill over. She blinked, hard, giving her head a violent shake. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, and over her shoulder, Don caught a glimpse of Compton heading towards them, his face somewhat unsure as he took in the scene. "I'm so, so sorry, Don…"

"Me too, Sam," Malarkey murmured against Sam's hat, pulling her back in to hold her close, leeching what comfort he could from the embrace as Compton finally joined them, hovering uncertainly beside the pair. "Me too."

Sam pulled away from Malarkey after a moment, catching sight of Buck standing just to the side. She indicated that he should join them, and he scooted closer. "Buck," she murmured, just before he wrapped her up in a hug of his own. All of his uncertainty, his fear and sadness and pain, was wound up in that simple gesture, and Sam squeezed him back just as fiercely as he squeezed her. "Take care of yourself, Buck. Be good, all right?"

"You too, Sam. I expect to see you again after this is all over," he muttered, ruffling her hat with an affectionate gesture that reminded her of how he was before he'd come to the aid station.

"Of course." She squeezed him one last time, patting his and Malarkey's shoulders comfortingly, before moving off to give them some space and time to say goodbye; her heart hurt too much to stay.

Her eyes scanned over the mess of men and jeeps and ambulances that milled around the tent, and she caught sight of a familiar face hovering just beside one of the trucks off to the edge of the line. Sam immediately jogged over, stopping just beside first sergeant Lipton. He had his arms crossed over his chest for warmth as he watched Buck and Malarkey speak quietly amongst themselves, but turned and gave her a pained smile when she approached.

"Lip," she greeted softly, and Lipton reached out to place his hand on her shoulder, squeezing affectionately and offering what comfort he could. He knew that Malarkey had told her about Skip and Penkala, and if the redness in her eyes was any indication, she hadn't taken it too well.

"Doc, how are you doing?" he asked, eyes darting to Buck and Don, before back to her. "Are they putting you to good use?"

"They are," she agreed quietly, and her voice sounded strained to Lipton. He couldn't help the surge of concern that he felt when he looked at her. "But if I see any more Easy Company men come through here, I'm gonna say to hell with this place and head back to the line. I thought I was helping here, doing some good. But really, I'm not helping anyone at all. At least, not any of you boys. I should be back on the line with you."

She'd volunteered to help here, and they needed her help desperately. They were still strapped for good medics and useful hands. Lipton knew this, and he also knew that Gene and Ralph could get by on their own for a while longer. The men here needed Sam's help as much as Easy, if not more. He would rather her be here and safe than back out on the line.

"Stay here a while longer, Sam. You'll be back with us in no time." He watched her eyes flicker to Buck and Malarkey, a melancholy shadow flitting over her face. "Just…you're better off here, just for a little while. We're going to be taking Foy tomorrow and…well, I'd rather you be here."

"I wouldn't," Sam admitted quietly.

"I know. But you'll do some good here. You _will_ ," he added, seeing the scowl she was leveling him with. "I'll send someone to come and get you as soon as possible, okay?"

Sam heaved a sigh, and Lipton watched her shoulders slump. She'd managed to find another scarf and a pair of gloves, and even bundled up in all of her many layers, she still looked so small and breakable. If he could protect her, just for a little while, then he aimed to do it. He didn't want to see another person's soul shatter in front of him.

"All right, Lip." Sam paused as she turned, standing shoulder to shoulder with him and wrapping her arms around herself. Her mind was on Skip and Penkala, and even though she didn't pray much, that night she knew she'd pray for them, and for their memory. "You said you boys were attacking Foy tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Give 'em hell."

"You got it, Sam."

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When Lipton said a 'little while' Sam hadn't though he'd meant _days_.

She'd so far been away from the men for almost two weeks total, and the only reports she heard about Easy were from the men who came in wounded here and there. Apparently, the attack on Foy hadn't gone too smoothly. Lieutenant Dike had been replaced by Speirs (a fact she was glad for) and they'd eventually been able to take back the town with his help.

Frank Perconte came through the aid station, and Sam had to suppress a smile when she saw that he'd been shot in the ass.

"Easy Company tradition?" she remarked when she found him, and Frank jerked his head up from his cot at the sound of her voice.

"Sam! So this is where ya been! Lip said you were at the aid station helpin' out, but we all hoped you'd come join us again soon. Guess I won't be back there when you finally do, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah, Frank. Now turn over and lemme see your ass."

"Aw, come on, Sam. Why do _you_ gotta do it?"

"You'd rather _another_ medic look at your ass?" she asked, raising a brow. Frank grumbled, but did as he was told, rolling over onto his stomach. Sam peered down at the bandages covering his butt, and grinned. "Four holes, one bullet?" she asked, and Frank sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, doc, laugh it up. Reeeaaal funny."

"Sorry, Frank," Sam apologized, still hiding her laughter as she set about changing the bandages. "Look at the bright side though. At least you'll have a nice set of scars to show off if you ever get married."

"God damn it, Sam."

After Frank's rather amusing visit to the aid station, Sam was getting the itch to head back to Easy. A few more men came through the medical tents, mostly replacements she wasn't entirely familiar with on a personal level, and informed her that Easy had taken Noville and Rachamps and was staying at the latter town in one of the bombed out churches; they would soon be headed off the line, bound for a town called Hagenau. Sam knew she needed to get back to them before they disappeared.

She planned her escape the next day, grabbing as many supplies as she could and running to find Cranston, the head medic, informing him that she was headed back to her company. He lamented at her loss, sad to see her go, but agreed to let her take whatever she felt she needed. Gratefully, Sam had thanked him before loading up on medical supplies and flagging down the first jeep she could find.

The ride to find Easy felt like a long one as Sam bounced along in the front seat, passing by trucks and ambulances and other jeeps rumbling along the same road. They were headed to Rachamps to where the men were stationed; it was only a little after dark, and her driver estimated they'd get to the town just before daybreak.

Sam spent the ride dozing intermittently, jerking awake every now and again with a start and realizing they hadn't arrived yet. Her bag was clutched tightly to her chest, as though she was afraid someone might try and take it. It was stuffed full of supplies, all the things she was eager to share with Ralph and Gene.

Eventually, just near dawn, the jeep rumbled into the town of Rachamps, and Sam was able to hop out, her legs stiff and sore from the long ride. She thanked her driver vigorously, before jogging off to find her company.

Passing a few men scattered here and there, she grabbed the arm of the first private to cross her path. "Hey there. You know where Easy Company is?" The man nodded, indicating the church that was over near the edge of town. The lights flickered lowly inside, and she could see the doors being pushed open as men started filing out into the early pre-dawn light. A determined look wound its way onto her face, and she quickened her pace until she reached them.

The first man who stepped out of the church elicited a large grin from Sam, and she had to physically stop herself from running up and hugging him. "George!" she called, watching his head whip to the side and look around. When he spotted her, his own grin could have rivaled hers as he immediately broke into a jog. As soon as he reached her, he swept her up in a hug, crushing her to his chest. Sam had never been a 'hug' type of person, but in the past few months, she'd learned to accept physical affection from the men she'd come to care about, so it didn't bother her as much as it used to.

"Sam! I'm so glad ta see ya! Hey boys!" He slung an arm around her waist, guiding her back to the men who were filing out of the church. "Look who's back!"

"Sam!" Liebgott greeted, the first of the swarm to reach her and hug her tightly around her shoulders. Many of the others followed, including Babe, Christiansen, Malarkey, Talbert, Martin, Bull, Cobb and Garcia, and Sam allowed herself to be swallowed up in a myriad of hugs from the men.

"All right, all right. Back it up," she chided, feeling overwhelmed by the group and having so many bodies pressed tightly around her; she might be more used to physical affection, but it still bothered her to have no space to breathe or move. Their joy was as suffocating as the mosh pit of men around her. "Give me some room, sheesh."

"'Ey, Doc sure will be glad to see you're back. He and Spina are just packing up inside; why don't you go say hi and give them a hand?" George suggested, waggling his eyebrows. Sam rolled her eyes, pushing him away with a sigh.

"Fine, George. I'll go. You're in such a hurry to get rid of me _already_ ," she grouched, but winked as she made her way through the throngs of men, most of whom were getting their gear ready to move out and heading towards the trucks. As she made her way to the church, she passed sergeant Lipton who was talking quietly to their new CO, Ronald Speirs. Both men looked up as she approached.

"Branigan," Speirs greeted, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "Glad you could rejoin the company. I know more than a few of the men were missing you. How was the aid station?"

"Thanks, sir. It was all right, I guess. Not my cup of tea. I'm glad to be back among the men, sir." She nodded at Lipton, who offered her a welcoming smile and a pat on the arm. He looked so run down and ragged, his face pale and soaked with sweat. Sam peered at him closely. "Lip, you feelin' all right? You don't look so good."

"Just a bit of pneumonia," he commented quietly with a cough. "I'll be fine, Sam."

"Seriously, Lip? 'A bit of pneumonia'? How do you have a ' _bit_ of pneumonia'? Lucky for you I brought some penicillin from the aid station that will help clear it up in no time. Let me get it for you." She started to dig around in her bag when Lipton's hands stopped her.

"Don't worry about it right now, doc. We're moving off the line. Once we get to Hagenau, you can give me whatever medicine you want. Right now, I gotta worry about other things, okay?"

Sam didn't look convinced, side-eyeing him skeptically. Lipton narrowed his eyes at her, and the two stared one another down, willing the other to give up and back down. Speirs interrupted the staring contest, looking as though he found it thoroughly entertaining.

"Sam, hook back up with the other medics and get ready to move out. We're headed to Hagenau. Christ knows why they can't send the boys back to Mourmelon, but it seems we're still needed to clean up everyone else's mess." He rolled his eyes, smirking around his cigarette; Sam got the idea that he enjoyed combat, and was secretly glad they weren't going back to England.

"Will do, sir," she agreed, saluting lazily and heading towards the doors of the church. She paused, turning to grab Speirs' attention. "Oh, and sir?" When he looked at her, she half-smiled contentedly. "I'm glad you're our new CO." Speirs nodded, eyes glowing with amusement, and made a shooing motion, sending her on her way.

Sam trotted to the church, pushing open the doors as the last of the men filed out, a few greeting her wearily or tapping her arms as they went by. She greeted them back, but her focus was on finding her two fellow medics. It didn't take long before she located them; they were near the back, talking in quiet voices and rifling around in a box with their heads down and close together, pulling out the supplies so they could stuff them in their bags.

"Gene? Ralph?"

Both men jerked their heads up at the same time, foreheads colliding with a 'whack' of bone. Sam's eyes widened, and she immediately clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter as they swore angrily and glared at one another. "Geeze, sorry you two. I didn't know you were concentrating so hard."

Eugene blinked through watering eyes, not quite believing what he was hearing. That was definitely Sam's voice. Once his vision had cleared back up, his face went slack, and he stared at the woman who stood only a few feet away, her blue eyes twinkling with laughter as she watched them. "S-Sam?" he managed, before his feet had already started working without his permission, sending him forward and colliding with the smaller body in his haste. Sam let out a 'whoosh' of air as Gene's arms immediately went around her, latching onto her tightly and crushing her to his chest.

Gene couldn't believe this was real; he had been so worried about Sam in the time she'd been gone, wondering how she was doing, knowing what sorts of horrors she would be dealing with at the aid station. But she was here, back and in one piece, and despite the shadows he saw dancing in her eyes, she looked healthier than she had before. She'd probably gotten plenty to eat at the aid station, and her cheeks had filled out, round and rosy from the cold.

He gently pulled away, holding her a few inches from him and looking her over. "I just can't believe yer back," he murmured softly, watching her eyes widen and the blush creep across her cheeks. Gene wanted nothing more than to kiss her fiercely in that moment, eager to convey everything he felt, all his worries and hopes and all the things that had been running themselves ragged inside of his mind since she'd left.

"I'm so glad to _be_ back, Gene," she replied, her voice low. "I, um, I really missed you." Her fingers fisted in the fabric of his sleeves, holding on for dear life, as though afraid he might disappear.

"I missed you too."

They leaned closer to one another, lips only a hairsbreadth away and everything around them momentarily forgotten, when a loud and pointed throat clearing caught their attention. Sam whipped her head to the side, blushing furiously, and Gene scowled over at Spina, who was watching them with a wide, shit-eating grin on his face.

"I _knew_ it," he quipped in a sing-song voice. "You guys are so damn obvious." He reached over, dragging Sam away from Gene for a hug and ignoring the grumbling from the usually quiet Cajun medic. "Some of the boys had a bet as to how long it would be before you two got together."

"Wait, _what_?" Sam demanded, tearing away from Ralph's hug with a glare. "You were _betting_ on us? Since _when_?"

"Spina!" Gene admonished, brows furrowed and looking annoyed.

"What, Gene?! Ugh, since before Paris, Sam. Some of the boys bet you'd hook up in France, but some of them bet you wouldn't admit how you felt until the whole damn war was over." He rubbed his hands together, looking gleeful. "So how long have you two been an item, eh? I need to know. I put my money on Paris."

Sam scowled and punched Ralph hard in the arm, turning on her heel and stalking out of the church with an indignant huff.

"Ow, geeze," Spina complained, rubbing his injured arm. "What the hell was that for?"

Gene sighed, shaking his head. "Spina, if you don't know why she punched you, then I ain't gonna tell ya."


	13. Souls in the Machine

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post! I was in Nevada visiting family, and then I got a job in my town as a teacher for pre-kindergarten. As much as I dislike California, I'm glad to be near home. I am so excited! My first day is Monday! Wish me luck!

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _Saying nothing... sometimes says the most." -Emily Dickinson_

 **Chapter 13: Souls in the Machine**

Easy Company moved out of Rachamps that day, bound for the city of Hagenau. Anything was better than being in the snow, so no one did much complaining. The best part was that they didn't have to walk, either.

Gene situated himself next to Sam on the back of one of the trucks, not very eager to lose sight of her. For some reason, he worried that if she left his side she'd disappear all over again. So he bundled up beside her, one arm slung over her shoulder. They'd deliberately chosen a different truck than Ralph because Gene was worried Sam might punch him again for saying something stupid (and this time in the face). While he took the news of the bet the men had placed in stride, Sam seemed irked over it, though he quietly reminded her that the boys had been right about the two of them, regardless.

A light smattering of snow was falling as the tucks rumbled along the wet, muddy roads and into Hagenau, the distant sound of heavy artillery fire filling the air. It was nothing the men weren't used to, and compared to Bastogne, this place was a paradise. They'd have roofs over their heads, and hopefully, if they were lucky, beds to sleep on.

The two medics bounced along in the truck with Liebgott, Malarkey, Babe and a few others. Babe was sitting on Gene's left next to Liebgott, with Sam on Gene's right, and beside her, Malarkey was standing in the bed of the truck. Gene had noticed that Sam had a death grip on Don's jacket sleeve, as if unwilling to let go for fear of losing him. He wondered if it had anything to do with Muck and Penkala, and decided he wasn't going to ask. She had her reasons, and they probably weren't any of his business, no matter how much he worried about her.

Sam, for her part, dozed on and off during the ride, head lolling to the side but fingers unwilling to release Don's coat. She'd made sure that she and Gene picked the truck he was in, eager to keep an eye on him and unwilling to let him out of her sight. She was keenly aware of the absence of Skip and Penk, and her heart ached every time she and Malarkey locked eyes. She missed Skip's boisterous laugh, Penkala's good natured ribbing, knowing she'd never hear their voices again. Every time she thought about it, her soul hurt just that much more. They were gone, and she'd never see or speak to them again; she hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. She'd regret that until the day she died.

Malarkey had accepted that she was clinging to him, and truth be told, it offered him some measure of comfort that she was there. He had missed her, and after the death of his friends, he had quietly wished she was there, if only so he had someone he could talk to. He didn't feel like sharing with anyone else, but he knew Sam felt the loss of Skip and Alex as deeply as he did; she was a kindred spirit in pain and he resolved to keep her close and safe. He couldn't lose another friend.

As the trucks rolled on into the town, Sam rolled her head to the side to watch the ones behind theirs, filled with more Easy Company men, and caught sight of a familiar, very clean-shaven face. "Holy shit," she mumbled, and Gene shot her an alarmed look, before realizing she wasn't looking at anyone on the truck. He followed her gaze and gave a start to see David Webster trotting along behind their truck.

"Web?" Sam called, drawing the rest of the truck's occupants attention to the man following them. He smiled widely, glad to be recognized by someone.

"Sam? That you? How ya doin', Sam?"

If she hadn't been so unwilling to release Don's sleeve, Sam might have tried to help Webster into the truck. As it was, a tired smile was all she could offer him in welcome. She was glad he was back; she'd honestly missed him, and despite the fact that he hadn't been in Bastogne with them, he was a sight for sore eyes.

"Some lieutenant told me to report to second," Webster chirped, and Sam wondered how anyone could sound so chipper in a place like this. When no one responded right away, he zeroed in on the man sitting at the edge of the truck. "Your name's Jackson, right?" he asked, and Eugene Jackson nodded slowly.

"S'right."

"Who's leading the platoon?"

"Sergeant Malarkey is."

Sam shot Jackson a confused look, and then glanced up at Don, who was studiously ignoring the conversation. She gave his sleeve a gentle tug, and he angled his gaze down at her, his face thoughtfully blank. She could see shadows in his eyes every time he looked at her, so she didn't press him to correct Jackson and she was too tired to deal with whatever games the men were playing with Web. She'd set him straight once they were all settled in and situated.

"What, no officers?" Webster asked, and Liebgott pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up with a clink of metal. He took a long drag before responding.

"I guess you didn't hear."

"What's that?"

"They're making Malarkey a lieutenant. He's on the fast track now."

"Really?" Web was going along with it, nodding his head.

Sam closed her eyes tiredly, fingers still fisted tight in the fabric of Don's sleeve. She wished they'd cut the bullshit and just drag Webster into the damn truck already. She noticed Gene was silent as well, and chanced a peek at him; he had his eyes closed, head leaning back against the truck and lolling side to side with the movement. He wasn't asleep, she knew, because his arm was still tightly wrapped around her shoulders, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze when he felt her gaze on him.

"That's great." Web's eyes cut to Jackson, and he swung his bag over his arm, dumping it in the truck. "Jackson, help me up, will ya?"

Jackson reluctantly did as he was asked, and Web clambered into the truck, nearly unseated when it unexpectedly took off. "So, uh, you come from the hospital?" Jackson asked. Web confirmed with a quiet "Yeah," and appeared to sense the hostility, but seemed to decide that he should just go along with whatever they said so he could be welcomed back into the fold.

"Musta liked that hospital," Liebgott snapped bitterly. "Cuz, uh, we left Holland four months ago."

"Well, I wasn't there the whole time. There was rehabilitation, then the replacement depot-"

"Why didn't you try to bust out and help us out in Bastogne, Web?"

Web looked confused, and Sam could hear the smile in his voice as he played along, still not seeming to get it. "I don't know how I would've done that."

"Well it's funny," Joe continued, exchanging a look with Babe, who sat beside him. The red-haired solider said nothing, looking unimpressed with Webster's return. "Because Popeye found a way. And Alley. Isn't that right? Back in Holland?" Babe nodded in agreement, eyes cutting back to Webster with annoyance. "And Guarnere, and-"

"Yeah, where is Guarnere?" Webster interrupted, and Sam flinched beside Gene, feeling Don do the same next to her. The Cajun medic cracked open an eye, glancing at the two red-heads beside him with concern, but neither said a word, mouths studiously glued shut. "He still your platoon sergeant?"

"Nah," Jackson replied, glancing at Sam and Don, anger flashing across his face when he looked back to Webster as the trucks rumbled to a stop at last. "He got hit."

"Yeah?" Webster asked as the men started filing out of the truck around him. Gene uncurled his arm from around Sam's shoulder, urging her to stand. She glanced back at Malarkey, tugging his sleeve to get him to move. He did so reluctantly, his movements sluggish and heavy. Gene leapt down first, and Sam let go of Malarkey's coat in favor of clambering down after him, gratefully taking the hand he offered before he turned and helped Don down as well.

"Yeah. Yeah Bill got hit," Babe informed Web. "Blew his whole leg off."

Sam ignored the comment, sticking close to Gene's side as the men filed out and away from the trucks.

"Okay, spread out," Malarkey instructed, breaking off from the group. Sam watched him go wearily, knowing he wouldn't wander too far from the platoon. "Hold along this line 'til I figure out where we're goin'." He stopped in the street just up ahead, looking down the rubble filled roads of Hagenau.

"Sarge?" Web called, hurrying after him. "Sarge?"

Whatever he was going to ask was cut off as the sound of shells overhead filled the air. The men ducked (some didn't even bother), though none quite so extravagantly as Webster, who dove to the street and into a mound of snow. Don put his hands over his head, and when the shells had passed over, he straightened up, raising an unimpressed brow at Webster. "What's a matter there, Webster?" he teased tiredly. "Nervous in the service?"

"No, no, sarge," Webster rushed to assure him.

Sam broke away from Gene, giving his hand a gentle shake. "I'll find you later okay, Gene? I gotta go check on Lipton. But I'll catch up."

"Don't get lost now, _cher_ ," Gene warned, not completely eager to let her out of his sight. He couldn't baby her, though, and he couldn't keep her from doing her job. Still, he hated the idea of her running around this place without him.

"I'll be fine, Gene. Go and get situated. I'll see you in a bit." She turned and jogged over to where Malarkey and Webster were standing, just catching the tail end of Malarkey's orders for Webster to go see Captain Speirs. "Hey, Don. Lipton with the Cap'n Speirs?"

"Captain Speirs?" Webster asked. "What happened to Captain Winters?"

"He's running the whole battalion now." Malarkey turned to Sam with a nod, brows furrowed slightly. "Yeah, Sam, he is. You and Web head over to the company CP." He indicated one of the buildings behind them "Tell Lip I hope he feels better, all right?"

Sam nodded, giving Don a reassuring pat on the hand before grabbing Webster's jacket sleeve and pulling him along behind her towards the building Malarkey had pointed out. She slogged through the wet streets, towing a surprisingly quiet Web as they stepped into the house that was serving as the company CP. Inside, Sam could make out the officers milling around, muttering orders and making plans. She passed Vest, who was carrying a box of supplies into another room and smiled at her in greeting, and released Webster's sleeve as she immediately made a beeline for Lipton.

"You're back, Sam. I knew it was only a matter of time before you sniffed me out to make good on your threats," Lipton greeted tiredly, pulling off his excess gear and flopping down on a tattered couch. He looked like hell, and Sam perched on the edge of the cushions, already digging around in her bag for the penicillin she'd taken from the aid station.

"'Course, Lip. If I let you get taken out by a little pneumonia, then what sort of medic would I be? Now hold still." She pulled out the syringe from a little box, uncapping it and giving it a tap with her fingers. She rolled up Lipton's sleeve, rubbing his skin with her fingers. "It'll only hurt a pinch, all right?" Lipton winced when the needle penetrated his arm, but as soon as it was there, it was gone, and Sam was replacing the needle in the box with a satisfied hum. "Good. I think maybe one more dose in a day or so? I've never treated pneumonia before, and I'll be honest, I didn't read up on it much. But you'll be fine as long as you get plenty of rest. Can you do that?"

"I'll try, doc."

"Don't _try_ , Lip. _Do_. You won't get better if you don't let your body recuperate, you know?"

George Luz suddenly appeared at their side, handing Lipton a stack of papers, which he took with a tired nod. Sam shot George a glare, and he shrugged, turning to grab something off a table. "Hey, look what I found." He brandished a blanket, and Sam yanked it from him, spreading it out over Lipton and tucking him in. George smirked at her, before his eyes strayed to Webster, lingering awkwardly in the doorway. "Hey, look who it is! Nice digs, huh Web?"

"Sergeant Lipton," Webster greeted, moving further into the room and removing his helmet. "You feeling all right?"

Sam wondered if he'd even paid attention to the exchange she'd had with Lipton only a moment before, but shrugged. "He's got pneumonia," she informed him, glancing over her shoulder as she tucked Lipton in; he gave her a tired look, as though it wasn't necessary, but her glare kept him from commenting on her mothering.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Eh, what are you sorry for, Web?" George asked, cigarette dangling from his lips. "He's alive, he's got a couch, a God damn blanket and his own pretty medic. He's snug as a bug."

"Yeah," Lipton agreed tiredly, and Sam resisted the urge to snatch the papers from his hand and demand he go get some rest again.

"Lip," she muttered warningly, and he waved her off, eyes heavy as she tucked the blanket up to his chin this time. He sighed in defeat and snuggled into the couch.

"Uh, sergeant Malarkey said to check with the CO if I should be in second platoon."

"Have a seat Webster," Lipton instructed. "We'll get you situated."

Webster sat down hesitantly on the steps, and Sam placed a hand on Lipton's forehead, alarmed at the fever she felt burning there. Her brows furrowed even further, and Lipton didn't even have the energy to smile sheepishly at her, accepting the coddling with quiet exhaustion.

"How long, uh, how long have you been sick?" Webster asked, and Lipton sighed.

"Long enough."

Sam was about to admonish Lipton again, eager to try and chase him off to some beds where he could get some proper rest, when boots scuffled at the entrance to the CP, and a very loud voice demanded: "Is this the company CP for Easy?"

"Yes sir." Lipton tried to straighten up in his seat, recognizing the unfamiliar man as a lieutenant, but didn't get far when Sam gently pushed him back down. He was too tired to fight her, even when she pulled the papers carefully from his hands.

"As you were," the new lieutenant commanded, and then glanced around the room. "Lieutenant Jones, looking for Captain Speirs."

"He's on his way, sir," Lipton mumbled sleepily. "Why don't you sit down." He motioned to one of the men who was sorting through some supplies a few feet away. "Can you get me and Sam a coffee?" he asked, and the man nodded. "Would you like a coffee, sir?"

"No thanks," Jones replied, relieving himself of his gear. He caught Webster's eye, and asked: "What platoon are you in?"

"Well, we're about to find that out."

The man Lipton had sent for coffee returned quickly, and Sam and Lip thanked him as they eagerly took the tin cups from him, warming their hands on the hot metal. "Lip, you _really_ need to go get some good rest," Sam persisted, still perched on the edge of his couch and leaning against one of his legs. "You aren't going to get better if you don't let your body heal."

"I will, Sam, I promise," he replied, taking a long drink of his coffee. He lowered it quickly when Speirs appeared from one of the back rooms, cigarette dangling loosely between his lips and some sort of antique candlestick in his hands. "Captain Speirs, this is, uh, this is Lieutenant Jones-"

"Listen," Speirs snapped, immediately cutting Lipton off. "For Christs sake, will you go back in the back and sack out? There's some beds back there with fresh sheets."

Sam shot Lipton a smug look, and he rolled his eyes. "I will, sir. Just trying to make myself useful, sir."

More boots at the door indicated the arrival of more officers, and Sam twisted to see Winters and Nixon step through the threshold, removing their helmets. Winters scratched his head, looking tired. "Listen up," he called, and Sam turned fully to face him. He didn't seem to have noticed her yet, too busy addressing the other officers to worry about who was in the room. "Battalion wants patrol for prisoners."

Sam felt her heart plummet as Nixon added: "This one comes straight from Colonel Sink so…not my idea."

"Since the river's the main line of resistance, we're gonna have to cross it to get to them," Winters continued.

"What do we need to do?" Speirs demanded, looking as tired as Sam felt.

"There's a three story building on the enemy side, up the embankment. We know its occupied. You can have fifteen men. Think very hard about who you want to lead the patrol. You'll need a lead scout, a translator…I've got the entire battalion on covering fire."

"When?"

"Tonight. Zero-one-hundred."

"Okay."

"Speirs," Winters added, face set in a grim frown. "I want this one to be as foolproof and as safe as possible."

"Yeah," Nixon agreed. "Don't take any chances on this one. We're too far along for that."

Nixon and Winters stepped further into the room, Winters calling Speirs attention to him so they could speak about the patrol. He passed by Lipton's couch, and paused, suddenly catching sight of Sam. She smiled at him, and Winters smiled back. "Hey there, Sam. Glad you could make it back. Are you doin' all right?"

"I'm good, sir, thank you."

Winters could tell that the time spent away from Easy and at the aid station, while not ideal for the company, had done the woman a world of good. She no longer looked like a walking ghost, and her face had filled out with color, the shadows in her eyes less pronounced. He gently patted her shoulder as he passed. "Glad to have you back, doc." When her smile widened slightly, he moved off towards Speirs so they could lay out their plan for the patrol.

"Who are you?"

Sam jerked her head around to see Nixon sizing up the new lieutenant, looking unimpressed.

"Lieutenant Jones, sir."

"Riiiight. Our West Pointer," Nixon drawled, eyes narrowing.

"Yes sir."

"When did you graduate?"

"June 6th, sir."

"June 6th? Of last _year_?"

"D-Day, yes sir."

Nixon's face broke out into an ironic smile, and he laughed in a way that amused Sam, clearly not thinking much of their new replacement officer. "All right, don't get hurt." He walked off just as Winters came to stand behind him, looking over the new lieutenant with an unimpressed gaze.

Sam stood as Nixon neared her, holding out her tin of coffee for him to take a sip. She had no qualms about sharing; he had, after all, once shared his canteen of water with her and Dick in Holland. "Hey, captain," she greeted as he gratefully grabbed the cup and took a long drink. "How has it been going with you? You look like you could use a shave."

"Ugh, tell me about it," Nixon groaned, handing Sam back the cup and running her fingers over his jawline. "I feel like a walking rug. I never let it get this bad before."

"Well, the water was never frozen before, was it, Nix? Can't imagine that would be fun to shave with." She liked Nixon; he was Lizzie's brother, but he was also comfortable. She never worried about formalities with him.

"Hey, Dick did it every _day_ in Bastogne."

Sam raised a brow at Captain Winters' back, looking impressed. "Jesus, now that's commitment. He must really hate beard stubble." All of the men had some sort of scruffiness going on, some more than others. Luz, Nixon and Speirs were all prime examples of that.

"Something about setting an example for the men, I guess," Nixon replied with a shrug. Winters joined them a moment later, clearly done speaking with the new lieutenant. Sam handed him the cup of coffee and he took it with a smile of thanks, taking a long drink the same way Nixon had and handing it back to her.

"Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime, sir."

"Listen, Sam, with the patrol tonight…Don't go outside if you can help it, okay? Leave it to Gene or Spina." At Sam's confused stare, Winters clarified. "I want you to get some rest, all right? That's an order. You look like you need it."

She wanted to protest that Gene and Ralph needed rest too, probably more than she did, but shut her mouth with a snap, nodding resignedly. Winters seemed satisfied, and stepped past her, heading into the other room.

Nixon shrugged when Sam shot him a quizzical look. "Hey, don't look at _me_ , all right? He's been worried about you since the night Harry got hit in Bastogne. I don't think he'll admit it out loud, but that's as close as he'll get to showing you he cares. He's gotta maintain the illusion of that 'distant commander-enlisted man relationship' thing." Nixon grinned when Sam scowled at him. "Just accept it and try and get some good rest. You _do_ look like you could use it."

"Says the walking throw rug," Sam grouched, and Nixon laughed, patting her shoulder as he strolled off after Winters.

When Sam turned back to Lipton and Speirs, they had already given Webster and the new lieutenant orders that she hadn't caught but would probably find out soon enough. She ambled back over to Lipton and Speirs, relinquishing the rest of her coffee to the Captain, who took it without question and immediately took a long swig. "Sam, go with…the lieutenant what's-his-face and…" He seemed to forget the names of the two men he'd just met, brushing them off as unimportant.

"Webster?" she supplied.

"Right, Webster. Go with them to second platoon. Make sure everyone is settling in. And tell Malarkey we're getting shower stalls set up so the men can take hot showers." He gave her a look, one brow raised. "You gonna want one?"

Dear lord, a shower sounded like heaven right about then, and Sam nearly melted on the spot at the thought of it. "Please, sir, I really, really, _really_ would." Speirs smiled faintly, though his smiles were more smirking grimaces than anything else.

"You got it, sergeant. I'll set something up for you, all right?"

If Sam was anyone else, she might've kissed him on the spot. "Thank you, sir," she exclaimed ecstatically, giddy at the idea of finally getting clean for the first time in what felt like months. Before she turned to leave, she pointed an imperious finger at Lipton. The man gave a start. "I swear to God, Lip, you had _better_ get some rest, or so help me, pneumonia will be the _least_ of your worries. Captain!" When Speirs paused in his stride, glancing over his shoulder, Sam shook her finger again at Lipton, who was rolling his eyes. "You make sure he gets some sleep, sir. Even if you have to tie him to the bed and _leave_ _him_ there for a week."

"Understood, sergeant. I'll make sure he gets some rest."

"Good," Sam nodded, satisfied with the answer, Sam went to join Lieutenant Jones and Webster at the door of the CP. "Hi, sir," she greeted tiredly, saluting the higher ranking officer with lackluster effort. "I'm sergeant Branigan. You can call me 'Sam' or 'doc.' Everyone else does. Glad to have you aboard."

"You're a woman?" Jones asked, looking visibly shocked.

"Yeah, I am, actually." She shrugged one shoulder, figuring he'd get used to it eventually.

"How'd you end up here?"

"Same as you. I was a replacement. We should really get moving, sir. We've gotta get back to the house the fellas are stayin' at. Sergeant Malarkey sure will be happy to get some help with the platoon."

Jones looked dubious, as though he wanted to ask more questions, but Sam's tired stare was enough to convince him that it could wait. He nodded and the three of them stepped out onto the road, clutching their bags close to them. While Webster and Jones shuffled hurriedly from place to place, ducking behind sandbags and other objects, Sam strolled along casually behind them with her hands in her pockets. She was unconcerned with the smattering of small arms fire she could hear in the distance, and she was tired enough that she figured that if a shell was gonna hit her, then it would hit her. She wasn't about to crouch down and sit in the muddy puddles with the two men. They were on their own with that shit.

Jones kept shooting her looks, as though horrified that she was being so casual about their mad dash to the safety, but Sam just shrugged every time he darted a glance at her over his shoulder.

"Who's that?" a voice called as the two men and Sam ended up behind some sand bags near an open door. Sam turned to see sergeants Pat Christiansen and Bill Keene appear from the shadows of the house, holding bags over their shoulders and grinning. "Webster? Sam?"

"That's right. How you doin' sergeant Keene?" Webster greeted, and Christiansen nudged Sam with a smile.

"Look what we scrounged," Keene boasted, holding up his spoils; they looked like potatoes. "Some spuds."

"Hey, uh, OP 2?" Webster asked. "Is it this way, or-"

The scream of an incoming shell had all the men suddenly yelling and running for cover; even Sam covered her head as she darted after Webster and Jones, the explosion of dirt missing her by only a few feet. She heard the gravel rain down on her helmet, just before she landed hard with her back against the mid-square town monument.

"Shit, they spotted us!" Webster cried.

"Is that it?" Jones demanded, talking about a building that was just beyond where they were crouched.

"I dunno, I think so!"

Another scream of an incoming shell had them yelling, feet already churning as they scrambled away from their cover, eager to reach the safety of the house. "Move, Web, move!" Sam shouted, giving him a hard shove as they scrabbled through the mud and the puddles, leaping next to a staircase with a thick bannister surrounding it.

Sam didn't even wait for the two men to follow her, swinging herself up and over and darting into the house. She heard Webster and Jones enter with a clatter a moment later, and she quickly ascended the stairs to where she knew the men were probably bunking.

"Hey, doc," Liebgott greeted as she stepped tiredly through the door. "Welcome back."

"Gene's set up in one of the rooms over there," Babe told her, pointing down one of the hallways. "I think he grabbed ya a bed and stuff too. He said to letcha know when you got here."

"Message received," Sam mumbled, just as Webster and Jones shuffled in behind her. She helpfully pointed Malarkey out. "Over there, lieutenant." She received a nod in return as Webster inched in to stand next to her, eyes roving over the beds. "Web. Get a bed, maybe get some rest, okay?"

"Right, doc," he agreed, before looking over the men around him. "Uh…Hey guys," he greeted somewhat warily. He placed his stuff on a top bunk. "This taken?"

"Help yourself," Liebgott told him.

Webster dropped his items onto the top bunk, and ambled over towards Malarkey and Jones. "Sergeant. This is lieutenant Jones, just assigned to second platoon."

"Malarkey, platoon sergeant," Don greeted, head down as he fiddled with a radio.

"Congratulations on the battlefield commission." Jones stuck out a hand for him to shake.

Sam bit her tongue, turning to shoot Liebgott, Grant and the other men by the window accusing stares. They feigned innocence, though Liebgott's wink told her otherwise, and she sighed. Incorrigible.

"What?" Malarky demanded, shaking Jones' proffered hand in confusion. He followed Sam's gaze to the smirking men, who were trying to hold back their laughter.

"They're making you an officer, no?"

"Me? No. You must be thinking of first sergeant Lipton."

Sam blinked in surprise. Lip hadn't even mentioned that he was getting a battlefield commission. She'd have to remember to congratulate him later.

"So, you're without a platoon leader?" Jones asked.

"Well, not anymore lieutenant."

"Oh…right…" Jones paused, hoisting his gun up over his shoulder. "So…you wanna introduce me to the men?"

Malarkey stopped fiddling with the radio, and Sam knew he'd be rolling his eyes if he could. "Sure. Some are sleeping downstairs, and the rest are up here."

The boys by the window each greeted Jones with either an unimpressed look or a raised tin of coffee, and Sam pushed towards them, inching around the new lieutenant and Malarkey to join the men. She was not only eager for more coffee, since she'd given hers away, but she wanted to see if they had any food; she was starving.

"Sergeant, a patrol's being planned for tonight, zero-one-hundred hours across the river. Command wants POWs for interrogation," Jones murmured, still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Sam paused only long enough to catch the look of defeat on Don's face before he and Jones strode off to discuss the mission in private.

"Hey, Web, come here," Liebgott called, grabbing Webster around the shoulders in a companionable embrace. "Come here."

"Why?" Webster demanded, as though already sensing a trap.

"Joe," Sam warned, her brows furrowing in annoyance. Joe shrugged, holding out his cup of coffee to her. She took it eagerly, the warmth leeching into her hands, and took a grateful sip.

"Want some coffee?" Joe asked Web, indicating the cup Sam was drinking from. Webster shook his head and Joe walked past him towards the bunks. "Fifteen," he said ominously.

"Fifteen what?" Jackson demanded, reclining on the top bunk.

"Louie's since D-day." The men all glanced at Jones by the window with Malarkey. Sam was too concerned about her warm coffee to care. "This kid out of high school yet?" Joe asked Webster.

"He's out of West Point."

Figuring the conversation wasn't going anywhere and deciding that Web could handle himself for a while, Sam took her cup and wandered down the hallway Babe had pointed out to her earlier, eager to find Eugene and see if he was getting set up, or if he needed anything. It took her a few tries to find the right door (most of the rooms were occupied by other Easy Company men, who greeted her enthusiastically each time she poked her head in) but she eventually located the Cajun medic, sitting on the bottom bunk of the first set of two bunk beds and rolling bandages. Spina was on the top bunk of the second set, hat pulled down over his eyes, arms behind his head and snoring softly.

"Gene," Sam greeted, and Eugene glanced up from his work, smiling when she moved into the room, sitting down beside him so their knees were bumping. "Are you seriously rolling bandages?"

" _Someone's_ gotta do it."

"I feel like that was a barb. Was that a barb, Gene?"

"What, no! Never!" he said with feigned indignation, putting on an affronted air. "I am only the most genuine person in the world. I would never stoop so low."

"Now you're milking it, ya wise ass."

Gene grinned, nudging her with his shoulder. "You know me too well." He set down the bandages when she held out her cup of coffee, accepting it eagerly and taking a drink before he handed it back. "Anythin' interestin' happen while you were out, _cher_?"

"Well," Sam considered, leaning back on one elbow and scooting further back on the bunk until her shoulders touched the wall. "We got a new lieutenant. You already knew Webster was back. Oh, and battalion wants a damned patrol to go across the river tonight to bring back prisoners."

The last part startled Gene, and he turned to look at her and placed his work down, before scooting back to join her. Their shoulders brushed briefly as he laid down flat on the bed, Sam still propped up so she could drink her coffee; he settled for leaning against her hip. "A patrol? That really don't make no sense. Kinda stupid to do somethin' so risky this late in the game."

"Yeah, well, who can say why they do the things they do. Maybe they'll give Don a break and let the new lieutenant take his place on the patrol; I know he sure could use it."

"Yeah," Gene agreed quietly. He felt Sam's hand tentatively reach out, fingers shimmying through his dark hair, and a sigh escaped unbidden from between his lips. That was unexpected, but it felt very, very nice. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes as she grew bolder, hands running back and forth through his soft hair. "Feels good," he mumbled, feeling weariness creeping up on him and egged on by her gentle ministrations.

"Oh!" Sam exclaimed, and Gene nearly leapt out of his skin as she was suddenly grabbing for her medic bag, rifling around in it earnestly with her free hand. He watched curiously, head tilted up.

"What are you lookin' for?"

"Ah ha!" Sam exclaimed, and handed him a carton of cigarettes. Gene took it, raising one brow in question. "Er, sorry, Gene. That was…well, that was your Christmas present. I meant to give it to you a long time ago, when we were in Bastogne. But with the way things happened, I just forgot about it and…" She shrugged one shoulder, checks flushed in embarrassment. "Well, Merry Christmas?"

Christmas had definitely long since passed, but Gene was no less touched by the gesture. Of course, he hadn't gotten her anything, because there wasn't anything for him to get her, but in his head, he resolved to find her something nice in the next town they came to that wasn't bombed to bits. "Thank you, Sam," he told her softly, tucking the cigarettes safely into his front pocket and touched at her gesture. "I really mean it. I 'preciate them; best damn Christmas present I've gotten in a long while."

He grinned up at her, amused at the way her cheeks pinked and she studiously avoided his gaze. She was embarrassed by his stare, and he found it, like many things about her, endearing. Content, he closed his eyes once more, her hand returning to his hair. It was tentative at first, and then grew bolder, fingers running lightly along his scalp and making him shudder.

"Why don't you get some rest, Gene?" He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. "I'll hold down the fort for a while and if anyone needs anything, I'll help them out."

"All right," he replied sleepily, but instead of turning over and letting himself drift off, he instead wrapped one arm around the back of her waist, throwing his other arm over her legs and using her stomach as a pillow. He felt her stiffen slightly, then relax against his hold, and he smiled as he pressed his cheek against her belly. This was the closest they'd ever been; the most intimacy besides a hug (and the one or two kisses in Paris) that they'd ever allowed themselves. The only other person present was Ralph, and neither were particularly concerned about him at the moment. "Only if you stay here with me, _cher_. I sleep better when yer here."

"Okay then, Gene," Sam agreed, downing the rest of her coffee and setting the cup over the edge of the bed on the floor. She straightened back up before she curled over him just slightly, one arm resting over his back, the other across her stomach as her hand gently ran through his hair in a soothing, repetitive motion. She felt him shiver slightly, and chuckled. The action made his head bounce up and down, and he cracked open one eye to give her a curious look. "I'll stay."

If this was what it would be like to hold her in his arms each and every night, then Gene decided that it was something he could _definitely_ get used to.

It took no more than a few minutes for Gene's breathing to even out, and Sam knew he was asleep. She had some things to do in the meantime, and as much as she'd like to stay with Gene, they weren't thing that could keep. She needed to tell Don about the showers the captain had said were set up, find some food, and then figure out when she herself would get to take a shower and _finally_ get clean.

She gently unwound Gene's arms from around her and picked up her coffee cup; he didn't wake, and she knew it was because he was used to much rougher things keeping him from sleeping. Stepping out of the room, coffee tin still held in her hands, she headed back to where the men were staying in the main room, seeing Don and Jones still deep in conversation. She ignored Webster and the other boys, who were murmuring quietly to themselves about something, and made a beeline for Malarkey.

"Don?" she intoned softly, and Jones turned to glance at her as her eyes immediately zeroed in on Don, ignoring the lieutenant. "Hey, Don, captain says there's showers set up. So anytime you boys are ready, you can go get cleaned up."

"Thank God. Thanks Sam." He proceeded to ignore lieutenant Jones the way she had to tell the men the good news. Sam nodded, turning and beginning to wander back through the house, when the scream of an incoming shell made everyone flinch.

"Incoming!" Don shouted, and the men started racing towards the door, grabbing their helmets and rifles. Sam stood frozen for a moment, before Eugene and Ralph sprinted down the hall, nearly colliding with her in their haste to get out. Gene grabbed her hand, her tin cup falling to the floor and spilling its contents everywhere as he pushed her ahead of him.

The men piled down the staircase, yelling loudly as they made it to the bottom, ducking and leaping under tables and chairs. "Stay low, come on, come on, go!" she heard Liebgott shout. Most of the guys made it just as the shelling stopped, dust and dirt raining down from the roof of the old building and onto their heads. Sam had collided with Don when he stopped, who threw out an arm to catch her, Gene running into her back, and Ralph slamming into him in a weird sort of train of stumbling soldiers. They all managed to keep their feet, annoyed looks on their faces as the men on the ground started cackling madly, the adrenaline from their rush wearing off.

"Ha, ha," Sam muttered, ignoring the way Don shot her an unimpressed look, clearly echoing her sentiment.

"Ya all right, _cher_?" Gene asked, and Ralph huffed behind him.

"Thanks for asking if _I'm_ okay, Gene. I can tell how much you care," the Philadelphian grouched, and Eugene merely shook his head, patting both of the other medics on the shoulders.

"I'm gonna go see if anyone is hurt. Stay with Malarkey and Spina," he muttered softly in Sam's ear, and she nodded, watching him race out the front door and into the streets.

"Showers," Malarkey instructed tiredly. He gave Sam a little nudge, Ralph right behind her. "Come on, let's go."

As they all filed out into the streets, another explosion rang out, and Sam could hear the distant sound of yelling. "Somebody's been hit!" someone cried, and the men froze, Sam and Ralph pushing past them and taking off down the street. A few seconds later, the thuds of several boots followed, and they all skidded to a halt to see Gene crouched over a body, already writing a name in the little book he carried.

"It's Keene," Ralph muttered, shaking his head. He and Sam both knew what 'too late' looked like by now, so they didn't offer any help. But Sam's eyes darted to Christiansen, who was kneeling beside Keene's body, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, as if not believing what had happened.

"Did you know him well?" she heard Jones ask Webster quietly.

"No," Webster replied, and Sam resisted the urge to whirl around and smack him for the careless tone he was using.

"Ralph," she muttered, giving Spina a nudge. "Go get a hot shower, all right? I'll help Gene." Her fellow medic looked hesitant to leave, but she shooed him away with a flap of her hands and turned back to the scene before her. Gene was holding out Keene's dog tags for Christiansen to take. Eugene Jackson stood just beside Sam, rifle in hand and eyes distant, as though standing guard. She patted his shoulder, before crouching next to Christiansen.

Gene looked up to meet her eyes, giving a subtle nod of his head. He would deal with the aftermath of Keene's death—probably with Jackson's help—but he was indicating she should help Christiansen. Sam agreed, and placed a gentle arm around his shoulders.

"Hey, Pat. Hey, I gotcha." When he didn't respond, she gently applied a little pressure, urging him to stand. It was hard to keep her arm around his shoulders because of his height, so she instead curled it around the middle of his back, guiding him down the road. "Let's go get you a hot shower, huh? You look like you could use it."

He made a noise of agreement, his head down, eyes still staring at his boots. "Yeah, doc…thanks. That, uh, that sounds good."

He let Sam steer him down the street to join the other men, many of whom were already eagerly getting ready to take their own showers. Sam wasn't concerned about what she would see, or what state of undress they were in; not only had she seen just about everything one could while working at the aid station in Bastogne and hospital in England, but Christiansen was her main focus at the moment.

She gave him a little shake, and he glanced down to see her offering him a tentative smile. "Do you need me to help you with anything?" she joked, and he managed to crack a smile back, though it looked strained and watery.

"No, Sam. I got it from here. But…thanks. Really."

"All right," she agreed, looking dubious. She patted his hand, stepping away. "If you need to talk, you know where to find me, all right, Pat?" When he nodded, she turned away, satisfied that he'd be looked after by the other men until he might need her again.

She lingered near the showers, unsure of what she should do. Captain Speirs had said she would be getting a shower, but as comfortable as she was with everyone, there was no way in hell she'd shower with them, or vice versa. Concerned about what she was supposed to do now, she didn't notice Gene jog up to her until he placed a hand around her shoulders and steered her a few feet away.

"Hey. I just saw Cap'n Speirs, and he said they set up a shower off to the side for you. Did you find it?" When Sam shook his head, he pursed his lips, turning to look over the mass of shower tents and stalls lined up for the men. He imagined she hadn't found it because she wasn't interested in seeing a bunch of naked or half naked men wandering around in the cold, and he couldn't blame her. "Come on. I think it's on the other side."

Sure enough, there was a shower stall that had been set up just beside the others, though this one was closed off on all sides. Sam stared at it gratefully, already eagerly anticipating washing the grime and gore from the past few months away from her skin. At the prospect of being clean, Sam began to feel even more disgusting, looking down at her ODs, which were as discolored as the rest of the men's clothes. "Hold on," she heard Gene mutter. "I'll be right back."

Sam was still longingly gazing at the shower stall when he returned, and he quirked a smile at the look on her face; she looked as though he'd just handed her a stack of chocolates. "Here ya go, _cher_ ," he called, getting her attention and shoving a clean uniform into her hands and a somewhat grungy looking towel; it was the best he could do on short notice. "I'll stand watch while you get clean. Won't let no one peek. Scouts honor."

Sam shot him a dubious look, a smirk crawling across her face. "I'd be more inclined to believe you if you were a scout," she joked.

"Medic's honor?"

"Good enough."

Gene watched as she slipped into the stall, hearing the rustling of fabric, before the steady 'pitter-patter' of water filled the air. He dutifully stood watch, warning anyone who wandered over with curious stares away with a swift word or a shake of his head. Most men didn't bother; they were very leery of annoying the man who was responsible for keeping them alive.

Gene was honestly relieved that Speirs had been so accommodating where Sam was concerned; if it had been Dike, he probably would have let her fend for herself, and it would've meant that she didn't get a shower when everyone else did. Truth be told, Gene was just glad to have her here, and have her safe, for the most part. He had already promised himself that he would look after her, but he felt as though whatever had been or was between them never got a chance to do much of anything. They still kept close, still looked out for each other, sure. But any love or romance was put on the back burner.

It was as it should be, he supposed. Their three days in Paris had been wonderful—not that they'd done anything together but explore, chat, maybe kiss once or twice, and generally enjoy each other's company. Not all relationships had to be about intimacy, and he was of the mindset that you couldn't be with someone fully unless you knew them, understood them, and cared about them with all your heart first. That was where they were at; affectionate touches, looks, chats, and just enjoying each other's closeness and company whenever they got the chance. He was fine with that, and he knew Sam was too; they'd promised to see where their lives took them together after the war, after all, and he was still keen to keep that promise. He just wondered if the war would let him.

It felt like they'd all reached a turning point, a place where everything felt like 'Well, I've made it this far, so _maybe_ I'll make it home.' No one could quite explain why, but he figured it was because they'd made it through Bastogne, through a literal hell on earth, that they sort of decided it was all downhill from here.

They were just that much closer to war's end; he could feel it. And it meant they were that much closer to normal lives—lives he _intended_ for them to spend together.

They just had to survive this thing first.


	14. Prayer in my Pocket

A/N: OMG so the first two weeks of school have been crazy. I have twenty four-year-olds to supervise and teach so its hectic. Plus I am also doing college classes at night to finish my credential, as well as my TPAs and Rica and…I don't sleep much. So to make up for taking so long, here's a somewhat longer chapter! I also finished 'Little Red Dress,' my Pacific Sledge x OC story if you wanna check it out! And 'Universe' will be updating soon as well!

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

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" _Of all the things you choose in life, you don't get to choose what your nightmares are. You don't pick them; they pick you." -John Irving_ _  
_

 **Chapter 14: Prayer in my Pocket**

Sam leaned against the counter, eyes roving over the papers in her hand as George Luz fiddled with the supplies he was removing from the boxes.

Since she'd been a former supply officer, and had spent a good deal of time at the aid station also wrangling supplies for the other medics, George had enlisted her and Corporal Vest to aid him in sorting through rations and other things the men had received since coming off the line.

The only problem was, the supplies were attracting unwanted visitors, most of whom kept trying to wheedle things away from the three self-appointed supply officers, who had become unofficial vanguards of the rations. In general, they had the most luck with Vest, if only because he was easier to intimidate. But George and Sam were warning men off with glares, stepping in when they tried to get to Vest, and doing a pretty decent job of keeping things from disappearing.

"Is that the box of Hershey's bars?" Sam asked, scanning the sheet and flipping to the next page to be sure she was keeping track of what they'd gone through so far. They were nearing the end of the list, with only a few things left to check off, but the frequent interruptions by the men were making progress slow going.

"Yeah," George replied, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. "Just gotta get 'em sorted. Hey Vest, can you take those boxes to the other room?" He indicated a small stack of crates, and Vest nodded, dutifully doing as he was told.

Sam chewed on the end of her pencil, eyes still studying the list, when a pair of boots and familiar voices behind her made her sigh. "Hey Johnny, hey Cobb," she greeted without looking up, scribbling something down on the paper. "Before you ask, the answer is no."

"Oh come on, Sam. We heard you guys had Hershey's bars. Can you spare just one?" Martin wheedled, and Sam shook her head without so much as a blink.

"Johnny, come on," George grouched. "You're breaking my heart."

"Just give me one," Johnny urged, and George rolled his eyes, reaching into a box and slamming something down on the table. Sam jerked her head up with a disapproving stare; they'd just counted that crap, and she didn't want to have to keep changing the damn numbers on her list because he was giving people gum to make them go away.

"Here ya go. Juicy Fruit. Happy?" George asked, before Vest came back in, carrying some more boxes.

"We got a report of movement. First sergeant Lipton wants you to lay a few bazooka rounds into a house across the river," he informed the radioman.

"You'd _think_ we could get a few Hershey's bars," Johnny grumbled.

"Come on doc, Luz. You're first platoon at heart," Cobb whined and George growled.

"Jesus, Cobb, there's not enough."

More boots scuffled at the entrance of the room, and Sam resisted the urge to smack her forehead in annoyance. She counted down to what she knew was coming. _3…2…1…_

"Whoa! Hershey's bars!" Joe Liebgott crowed as he, Grant, Webster and lieutenant Jones entered, and both Sam and George groaned, saying at the same time:

"Jesus Christ."

"Who are they for?" Joe demanded.

"Not you, Lieb."

"Oh, come on George. One bar. Sam? Just one?"

"Look," George snapped, his voice rising, and Sam lifted her own head to glare at the boys, fed up with having to defend the supplies from them like they were some sort of pack of wolves. "There's not enough to go around!"

"Is captain Speirs here?" Lieutenant Jones demanded above the noise, and George shook his head.

"Uh, down by the river, sir."

"Hey big mouth." All eyes turned to the other side of the room, confused as to who had just spoken. Frank Perconte stood in the middle of it, looking shined up and far better than he had the last time Sam saw him. "Give the kid a Hershey's bar."

"Look who it is!" Joe cried. "Perco!"

"You gotta be shittin' me!" George grinned.

"Hey guys. Like what you did with the place, George."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I did good. How ya feelin'?"

Frank strolled into the room, and Sam set her supply list down to wander over to him, a grin on her face as she reached out to pat his shoulder. "Hey there, Frank," she greeted when he smiled at her. "How _are_ you feelin'?"

"Long as you keep your hands off my ass, I'll be fine," Frank replied, and Sam's grin turned into a smirk as she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, Frank. I'll try and contain myself, but no promises."

"Have a Hershey's!" George tossed a bar to Frank, who caught it easily. Both men ignored Sam's narrow-eyed stare; they'd just fucking _counted_ all of those!

"He gets a fuckin' Hershey's bar?" Joe protested.

"He got shot in the ass," George explained, shrugging one shoulder.

Martin, meanwhile, had joined Sam and Frank, giving Frank's hand a shake. "What, did I tell you to stick your big ass out in the wind?" he cajoled, and Frank pouted.

"No, but I expect a little sympathy."

"What, you want me to rub it for ya? Hey, Sam, can you believe this guy? I try to get him out of the fuckin' war, and he comes straight back."

"Like an adorable Italian homing beacon," Sam muttered, and Frank sighed.

"God damn it, Sam." He looked at Martin, trying to ignore the amused grin on his friend's face. "And that ain't what I heard, Peewee. I heard the Krauts are finished."

"Yeah, well," Liebgott's solemn voice droned. "Just to make sure…we gotta row across the fuckin' river tonight, grab a few, and ask 'em in person."

"Are you kiddin' me?"

Liebgott 'tsked.' "Wish I was. Welcome back, Frank."

Sam followed Frank back to the supply table, the mood in the room far less welcoming and jovial than it had been a moment before. All the men in the room knew how stupid the patrol was, and how suicidal, especially at this point in the war. There was no real reason for it; the Germans didn't have any information they wanted and they didn't have the man power or the fire power to stand up to the Allied Forces anyway, so why waste time and risk lives for such a ridiculous mission?

Sam shared a look with George, who's face had lost much of its humor as he turned to grab a box of supplies from behind him.

"Yeah, oh Jesus, that reminds me Web. I need you to run these to OP 2 for me. Grenade launches for the night patrol, huh?" He held the box out. "Any day now Web."

Webster obligingly took the box, putting his helmet back on before doing so, and hefted it into his arms. "There ya go," George drawled. "Oh hey, and take these too." He started tossing ration packs into the top of the box, counting them out as he did so. Sam was glad to see he at least kept track, and grabbed her list off the table, making a note of it.

"Hey, hey," Vest called eagerly, gaining the attention of most of the men, sans Sam and George, who were still counting. "Did you hear what happened on D company's patrol last night? Replacement lieutenant blew his foot off; stepped on a shoe mine. Fresh in from West Point. Had to come back empty handed."

Sam dragged her eyes away from her paper, shooting Vest a chiding look. With lieutenant Jones lingering the doorway, that story had been in very poor taste. He probably knew it, too, but was too eager to tell the men about what he'd heard. She shook her head, eyes darting back down to her list.

"No shit?" George asked, amusement curling his lips. He didn't care if Jones was offended; trial by fire was just the way of these men. "Hey, maybe he was a friend of yours, huh lieutenant?"

Sam peeked at Jones from the corner of her eyes, seeing his face go just slightly paler than normal. He actually seemed unsure, as though he couldn't tell if they were joking with him or making fun of him. _Sam_ wasn't even quite sure, if she was honest with herself. Either way, she didn't think that story was necessary. "I'm sure he didn't _die_ , lieutenant," she told him, and he jerked his head in her direction. "Probably just went back to England. I'm sure he'll be fine, sir. Stuff like that happens all the time around here."

She realized what she said the second she said it and immediately regretted it when Jones went even paler, and knew from the smirk on Liebgott's face that the other men had probably found it hilarious. "Shit," she muttered, studiously returning to her list and resolving not to talk without thinking ever again.

"Hey Vest," Cobb called from over her shoulder as Vest opened one of the crates he'd brought in. "Whatchu got in there? More Hershey's bars and Lucky Strikes for your rear echelon fucks to hoard?"

"Cobb!" Sam admonished, head snapping up to fix him with an angry glare.

"Eh, eh, eh, Cobb with the mouth. The kid's just tryin' to do his job, all right?" George added. "Jesus Christ. Ya know what, ta hell with it." He threw the bars he was sorting into one of the boxes, skirting around Vest. "Come on Vest, I gotta go blast this house."

"Ya happy now?" Vest demanded of Cobb, who shrugged.

"Ya comin' Perco?" George asked Frank, and then motioned to the supplies behind him. "Ah, make yourself useful and watch this stuff for me, okay? Web, you come with me."

Webster, who had been silently holding his box, nodded and followed George. Jones stopped him momentarily with a question.

"Sergeant, is Captain Speirs gonna be where you're headed?"

"Uh, same vicinity, yeah."

"All right, then I'll join you."

George shrugged. "Suit yourself, sir."

"Where are we going?" Webster asked, clearly not having been paying attention one bit. Sam wondered if he was daydreaming; he often got that far away look in those big, intelligent eyes of his when they were in Holland.

"Ah, Jesus. To the house I gotta blast."

"Captain Winters gonna be with 'em?" Vest called as the men around him started digging in crates.

George sighed. "Geeze, look, I don't know, maybe!"

"Then I'm coming too." And with that, the four men abandoned Sam with the supplies, leaving her to deal with the aftermath as the boys around her started digging eagerly into the boxes.

She felt her eyebrow tick as her anger spiked; did they not even see her standing there with the fucking list in her hands _at all_? Martin, Liebgott, Cobb, Grant and Frank were sorting through the supplies, fingers grabbing, stuffing things into their pockets. In the next second, however, they all froze when Sam slammed her supply list down on the table as hard as she could, the loud 'BANG!' making them jump.

"If you don't want to wake up in the middle of the night and wonder why your thieving hands are suddenly _missing_ , then you had best put those supplies back in those boxes, and walk away right now. If you don't, so help me, I will get Gene and Ralph to help me stich _every single one of you_ into your own _boots_ so you can never take them off."

Five pairs of wide eyes blinked at her threat, and slowly but surely, the missing items were eased back into the boxes, the men's movements careful and deliberate, as if afraid she was a bomb that would explode if they moved too quickly. "Jesus Christ, Sam," Grant muttered once he'd put the last Hershey bar he'd taken back into the box. "I thought my ma was scary…but you're the scariest fucking woman I've ever _met_."

"Please remember that next time you dig into my _already counted_ supplies, Chuck, and we'll get along famously."

888

Sam slept through the night patrol.

She hadn't wanted to, but when she'd returned to the room she shared with Gene and Ralph, the three medics had eaten dinner and gotten comfortable. Gene had told her and Spina to rest while he went out to go check on the men, and the two had agreed, only putting up a minimal fuss until he fixed them with his best 'I'm the head medic here and I call the shots' look.

She and Ralph had agreed, but despite the order for them to get some sleep, they'd stayed up talking for a good few hours.

Ralph was a good man and Sam really thought the world of him. They'd not spent as much time around one another in Holland because he was usually at the aid station, helping out with the wounded, and she and Gene spent a lot of time with the men. But in Bastogne, they'd shared a foxhole, and gotten close. They'd both been replacements to the company after Normandy, so they had that in common, and they'd both been unsure of themselves when joining the men: Ralph, because he was replacing a former Easy Company medic, and Sam because she had a hard time trusting people in general.

"So, I take it you're comfortable with us now," Spina asked her as they sat in the silence of the room. He was stretched out on the top bunk, eyes closed, and Sam was across from him, on the top bunk of the bunk beds she shared with Eugene.

"For the most part," Sam admitted easily, turning to look at him. "I mean, spending all this time huddled in foxholes with you guys, patching up your wounds, and generally having no choice in the matter when people hug me or put their arm over my shoulder, has made me sort of appreciate you guys more. Now it's hard to imagine what my life would have been like if I'd never accepted that transfer."

Her mind wandered to Lew Helman and Sidney Seda, wondering if they were all right. She'd written letters to them, certainly, but she'd never mailed them. She'd written letters to a lot of people that she never mailed: Lizzie, her mom, even Bill Guarnere, Joe Toye and Buck Compton. She wasn't sure why she never sent them. She just…didn't.

Her mother had sent her a few letters, but being so busy on the farm meant that she didn't have all that time to do so. The last letter Sam had sent her in England, just before they'd left for Holland, she had urged her mother to rest, to relax, to not push herself so hard. She'd told her that she probably wouldn't hear from her for a long while, and not to worry about writing, because she wasn't sure if the letters would even make it. She'd closed with a lot of assurances that she'd write when she got somewhere safe, and sent all the money she'd been saving up from her monthly pay to help her mother hire someone to help her out.

Lizzie's letters came in the form of Lewis Nixon, who told her that his sister asked about her in the letters she sent him, and that Lizzie kept urging him to write about Sam, or force Sam to write to her, knowing that the female medic wouldn't make much of an effort (and not making one herself because, quite frankly, it was annoying not to get replies back from Sam when she wrote to her). That was enough for Sam, but she decided that she should probably at least send Lizzie something so she knew she was okay.

The other men, the ones she'd trained with or been in combat with…Anything she wanted to say just fell flat. What could she do? Send them a letter saying 'How's the weather? It's snowy and shitty here, and it's always so fucking cold. Hope you're having a great time where you are. Wish you were here'? She didn't know what to say. Maybe when she stopped being so busy and got her head on straight, she would write to them. She wanted to know how Bill, Joe and Buck were doing, after all.

But Lew and Sidney…they had promised to write her, and never did. That didn't sound right for the two of them, so she hoped with all hope that they hadn't been killed when their regiment had been captured. She resolved to find them, or look them up, or _something_ once she got back to England, just to assure herself that they were fine.

"I'm glad, ya know."

Ralph's voice broke her from her thoughts, and Sam blinked up at the ceiling. "Glad about what?"

"About you bein' here. You're a good medic. You care about the men; you care about what happens. And ya care about Doc. Christ knows that idiot never looks after himself, so someone has to be there to do it for him. I'm glad it's you. To be honest, when you first joined, most of us weren't sure what to make of it, even us replacements. When we got to Holland, you showed that you were as dedicated as the rest of us, and we could respect that, even if you were a dame."

Sam felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes, voice suddenly betraying her as she croaked "Thank you, Ralph. That means the world to me. You're one of the best friends anyone could ever have."

"No sweat, Sam. Same to you. You were always there when we needed ya. And you still are. Just wanted you to know that. And, uh, and I'm sorry."

"Um…About what…?"

Ralph laughed sheepishly. "About making a bet on you an' Doc. It was just a silly thing, really. We didn't think anything would come of it, but…well, a lot of us were sure you guys were together or somethin', ya know, in secret. I mean shit, Skip got you two those passes to go to Paris 'cuz he was _sure_ you were both dancin' around one another and just too afraid to make a move. He told us that he was going to get you two together one way or another because he was tired of Gene's puppy dog looks and your thick-headed obliviousness."

"Skip…Skip did that?" Sam whispered, feeling something inside of her seize in pain. Good God, he'd been a better friend than she ever realized. His absence suddenly hit her all the harder, and the tears she'd been holding back at Ralph's words suddenly flowed freely. She squeezed her eyes shut, not moving or making any indication that she was silently crying, unwilling to let Spina know of her distress.

"Yeah, he did. Guess it worked out, huh? You an' Doc…"

"Yeah…we're…we're waiting for the war to end before we start anything, though. I mean, now isn't the time for a real relationship. But soon, maybe, once thing are all over and done with. Once we get home and get back into a good head space…we'll see."

"No shit? That takes a lot of self-control. I see the way you two look at each other." He shrugged one shoulder, eyes still closed. "I'm happy for you guys. And I swear to God, if you don't invite me to your wedding, I'm gonna deck Gene and not speak to you for a week."

Sam gave a startled laugh, brushing the tears from her eyes surreptitiously. "Just a week, huh? What makes you so sure we'll get married?" 

Spina scoffed. "Oh _please_. Those googly eyes and the hand holding and the way you two looked at each other in the church? And he never shut up about you when you were at the aid station. Christ almighty, he was like a fucking love sick puppy and it was driving me nuts. I had to kick him out of the foxhole because he was so damn annoying. Trust me. You're gonna get married after this war, or my name isn't Ralph Spina. And if you don't, I'm gonna deck Gene anyway for being such a fucking idiot and _not_ asking you to marry him."

Sam was laughing in earnest now, Ralph's words making her heart flutter. He was so kind, so wonderful, and she resolved then and there to be friends with him until the day she died. He'd become as close as any best friend would, probably as close, if not closer, than she and Lizzie. Sam could honestly admit that many of the men in the company had the same distinction, and she was okay with that. She was happy, she was content, and even if war really was hell, she was glad she'd transferred to Easy.

"Damn it, Ralph. You're the best fucking friend any girl could ever ask for, ya know that?"

"Mouth, young lady," Ralph admonished, grinning over at her and earning another laugh from Sam. "But yeah, I know."

The two of them drifted off into an easy slumber, unbothered by the sounds of gunfire and artillery that ripped through the air only a few hours later, and unaware of the events of the patrol that followed.

888

Eugene Jackson died of his wounds that night.

Gene informed both Sam and Ralph when he returned, just before daybreak. Both medics had been silent as they digested the information, heads bowed quietly. When Gene had also told them there was to be another patrol, Ralph swore under his breath, and Sam closed her eyes tightly.

"Are they fucking nuts?" Ralph growled angrily. "All that bullshit, Jackson dead, two Kraut prisoners, and they want another God damned patrol? What are they thinking?"

"They'll have to go further into town," Gene supplied, looking exhausted. Sam was worried about him; he never stopped to rest, not even here in Hagenau. She was on the verge of getting Spina to help her force him to stay in the room and sleep for a while.

"I don't believe this…"

Sam gave herself a shake, before locking eyes with Ralph over the top of Gene's head and pointing down at the exhausted medic with meaning. Spina seemed to understand exactly what she was saying, and nodded. "Hey, Gene," Sam began, gently reaching forward to take Eugene's helmet from his hands. She set it on the floor as Ralph helped the Cajun medic remove his medical bag, setting it beside the helmet. "You need some rest. I want you to stay here while Ralph and I look after the boys and run your errands, okay?"

"But I can't," Gene protested, looking between the two other medics. "I got too much to do and-"

"Roe, don't force me to go over your head to the captain; you know he'd side with me. You need rest, and Ralph and I can handle it. Besides, you're no good to anyone if you're half dead on your feet." Sam reached forward to gently push Gene back on the bed like a mother would a small, sleepy child. He was too tired to argue further, accepting her fussing with only a little bit of grumbling under his breath. It was all in French, so she couldn't make out a word of it, but she quirked an amused brow as she finally got him tucked in. he was scowling up at her like an oversized kid. "Don't give me that look, Gene. Get some sleep. And don't you grumble at me in French unless you want to translate every word you say, ya chucklehead."

"Fine, fine," he grouched. "I'll rest. I can't promise I won't grumble anymore, but I'll do what you say." He growled even more when Sam flashed Ralph a triumphant grin, and Spina held both his thumbs up, smirking widely. "I hate both of you."

"No you don't," Sam sing-songed as she grabbed her own helmet, securing it on her head over her tattered, ever-present hat. She grabbed her medic bag, and then handed Ralph his as he adjusted his helmet. "You love us. Now get some sleep, or we'll lock you in this room until you do. G'night!"

Ralph and Sam stepped out of their shared room, closing the door with a 'snap' of finality behind them, and headed down the hall to where the men were. The sun was already well on its way to being high in the sky, though with the gloominess and the clouds, it was hard to tell that it was daytime. As they reached the main common room, they were surprised to find it empty.

"Do ya think they're downstairs?" Ralph asked, and Sam shrugged. There was only one way to find out, so they trudged down the stairs into the spacious basement to find that Ralph's guess was correct. The men were gathered once more in the basement of the house, waiting for nightfall and preparing themselves mentally and equipment-wise to go on patrol.

The mood was somber as the medics walked in, and Sam could sense that none of the men wanted to be there; she knew why, and she didn't blame them. Before she or Ralph could say a word, however, Captain Winters, Speirs and Nixon walked in, boots shuffling. The men all stood at attention, faces grim as the officers shuffled into the room.

"At ease," Winters called tiredly. "Sergeant Grant." He greeted Chuck Grant with a nod, and the man returned it.

"Sir."

Winters made his way around to the front of the table, the men gathering around it. Sam and Spina held back, not willing to leave until they'd heard the details of the patrol and knowing there was a chance that one of them could ask to go if they were going father into town.

"You men did an excellent job last night," Winters told the boys, pulling his helmet from his head and setting it on the table. Speirs stood beside him, face blank. Nixon had stopped near the archway where Sam and Spina stood, and took a spot next to Sam. He shot her a look that she couldn't quite make out, but her attention was quickly diverted back to Winters when he spoke.

"Uh…I'm proud. I'm proud. I just saw Colonel Sink; he's proud too. In fact, he's so proud, he wants you to do another patrol across the river tonight." Winters' eyes roved over the men, noting the weary expressions and downcast gazes as they hung their heads. "Any moment now, the outpost we hit last night will go up in flames. Martin?" He glanced at Johnny Martin, who nodded.

"Yes sir."

"Means we'd have to venture farther into town this time. Captain Speirs, you have the map, please?"

Speirs looked exhausted, Sam observed, watching as he tiredly agreed, handing the map to Grant, who placed it on the table in front of Winters. He looked like he hadn't slept much in the past few days, and she wondered if she'd have to make another trip to the OP. She needed to check on Lip anyway and give him another shot of penicillin. Maybe while she was there, she could tell the captain to get some rest too.

Winters placed a finger on the map, moving it back and forth. "We have enemy movement here, here, and here, which means this is our new house target here. Recovered all the boats, so we'll be setting off from the same place we did last night."

Martin looked unimpressed as he asked "We're not changing the plan any, sir?"

Winters paused before responding, and Sam was starting to get concerned; she'd never heard him sound so unsure, never heard him make so many stops and pauses in a briefing. This was weird. "No, no. Plan is the same. Uh…it'll be zero-two-hundred hours instead of zero-one-hundred. That clear?" 

A chorus of tired voices responded. "Yes sir."

"Okay…good, because, uh…I want you all to get a full night's sleep tonight-" The men all looked up at Winters, eyes wide, curious and confused. Sam was feeling a little confused herself, but Nixon elbowed her and grinned, and she caught on to what was happening, her face falling slack in shock. "-which mean means in the morning, you will report to me that you made it across the river, into German lines, but were unable to secure any live prisoners…Understand?"

This time, the "Yes sir" was a little more hesitant as dawning realization crept over the men.

Winters nodded. "Good. Look sharp for tomorrow. We're moving off the line." His yes darted over the men, before he grabbed the map and his helmet, and rejoined Speirs and Nixon. Sam shot him an incredulous look as he passed, and he managed the faintest of smiles before he was gone.

"Close your mouth, Sam. You're gonna start catching flies," Nixon remarked, nudging her again before following after Winters.

Sam turned to Ralph, who's face echoed her shock. She could hear exclamations of surprise from the men behind her, none of them daring to hope or dream that this was real. But it was, and none of them could be happier. Winters was really sticking his neck out for them, and it was only one more reason in a long list as to why they loved and admired him as an officer and a commander.

Sam grinned as she patted Ralph's shoulder. "Hey, make sure they get some food, and _actually_ rest a little. Don't want them up all night laughing about this. I'm gonna go check on Lipton and see how he's doing. You got this?"

"'Course I do, Sam. Now get goin'." His smile was contagious, giddy and eager to get off the line and someplace nice and safe and normal for once in a long, long while. Sam shook her head, amusement clear in her face, and jogged up and out of the basement, following Webster, Skinny Sisk and Lieutenant Jones, who were just ahead of her.

A loud explosion sounded just before she reached the top of the stairs, but she ignored it, knowing it was probably the outpost they'd hit last night. As she made it out of the stairwell, she stopped next to Webster, who was lighting a cigarette.

"Hey Web. Was that the outpost?" she greeted, and he smiled around the cigarette.

"Hey Sam. Sure was; right on time. Where ya off to?"

"Gotta go check on Lip. Uh, listen. I'm sorry the boys gave you a rough time. It was just…everyone was tired and pissed off and…I think you were an easy target. You were so new and shiny and we…weren't. Don't take it personal, okay? You're one of the guys, and you always have been. I'll be honest, I really missed you."

She clapped him on the shoulder, and Web's smile widened. "Thank you, Sam. That…makes sense, yeah. I probably could've been less of an idiot about things, I guess." He reached up and affectionately tugged on the brim of her hat that was sticking out from beneath her helmet. "I missed you too. Now go make sure sergeant Lipton is feeling better. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you, especially after the way you threatened him the other day." He winked to show he was only joking.

"Oh, right, ha. Weeeelllll, if he has any sense in his head, he took those threats seriously. Hey, come on, why don't you come with me? Maybe George has some stuff for you to carry for him again," she quipped, before jogging off through the rubble, following in the wake of the officers who she watched disappear into the company command post just up ahead. She could hear Web plunking along behind her, boots scrabbling in the mud.

She stepped through the door, removing her helmet and plopping it down on a table as she crept into the CP. She noted George and Skinny near the back of the room. George was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, watching something that was happening in the next room over, while Skinny was busy going through the boxes in front of him, stacking up ration packs and carrying them off to only god knew where. Sam wasn't concerned with that; she'd relinquished charge over all supplies when George had heard of her threats. He had found it hilarious, but told her some of the boys were a bit leery of being around him while he counted and sorted supplies now, and he needed their help to carry shit. So he'd banned her from being any sort of temporary supply officer for the foreseeable future.

"Hey, George," Sam called, ambling towards him. He was still watching the other room intently, and she followed his gaze, surprised to see Winters, Nixon, Jones, Speirs, and Harry Welsh (back from the hospital) gathered around Lipton. "What's up?"

"What do we have here, boys?" Web asked as he followed Sam, eagerly looking into the crates of supplies.

"Lip's gettin' his battlefield commission and being promoted," George told Sam, leaning towards her to get a better view around Webster. Sam leaned with him so they were both leaning over to one side, back to the wall, and when Web looked at the two sergeants, he smothered a laugh.

Skinny and Webster paused in their raid of the supplies turning to watch the officers' promotion of Lipton. Sam's keen eyes zeroed in on the sergeant, now turned lieutenant, and noted that he looked loads better. The redness around his nose and eyes was almost gone, and his skin had gained some color back. His hair was no longer plastered to his forehead with sweat. _Good_ , she thought. _Maybe that penicillin worked after all._

Once the unofficial ceremony was over, Sam smacked George's arm and shuffled into the room, nodding at Winters and Jones as she stepped around them. "Sir," she greeted Welsh, who was being heckled by Nixon about 'that scratch' he got in Bastogne. "I'm glad to see you're doing all right. Everything ship shape?"

"Thanks to you, doc," Harry agreed, a grin on his face as he reached out and shook Sam's hand. "I appreciate it. I'm good now, for lack of a better word. I coulda died if it hadn't been for you and Gene."

Sam raised a brow. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before lighting a fire in a dell, sir. I think you pissed off the Fair Folk."

"Fair Folk? Really, Sam?"

"You made a fire in a dell. I don't think they liked that," Sam explained, shrugging.

"Oh, come on, Sam," Nixon laughed. "You don't really believe that, do you? That some _fairies_ got pissed off and caused all that?"

Sam blanched, shaking her finger at Nixon. "Oh my God. Of course I do, Lewis. The aos sí are _not_ to be taken lightly."

"The _what_?"

"Fairy folk," Welsh supplied, and Sam nodded. "It's some old Irish superstition. But the sidhe usually only live in mounds or burial mounds on Ireland."

Sam shrugged. "My ma was a big believer in the Fair Folk. She was really big into Creideamh Sí." At Nixon's confused look, Sam clarified. "It's the belief that fairies are real and that you should maintain good relations with them. She'd always leave a saucer of milk and some apples near one of the trees on our farm for the to avoid angering them. She told me stories about the Fair Folk all the time, and when I was bad, she'd sometimes tell me that if I didn't shape up, the Sluagh would come for me and steal my soul."

"Jesus Christ," Welsh muttered, staring at her in shock. "My mom would sometimes tell me the same thing, but about the siabhra."

"Okay, you've both officially lost me," Nixon grouched, not following the conversation one bit. "This is an Irish thing, isn't it?"

"Yep. They're like evil, restless spirits that carry away the souls of the dead. Or bad little kids, I guess," Welsh agreed, shrugging one shoulder. Sam nodded, before her eyes zeroed in on Lipton over his shoulder. He was speaking to Speirs, looking in relatively good health and good spirits. _ **  
**_

"Okay, boys. I need to go check on Lip. He has a 'bit of pneumonia' and didn't look so good yesterday." She turned to Harry, tilting her head. "Glad to have you back, sir. We all missed you."

"Aw, thanks doc. That makes me feel all warm inside."

Sam rolled her eyes as she strode off towards Lip and Speirs. "Don't get used to it, sir," she grouched, just as she reached the other two officers. Lipton turned and smiled at her, and she was relieved to see that, even up close, he looked so much better. "Hey there, Lip. Congratulations on the promotion! Couldn't have happened to a better man."

"Thank you, Sam."

"Now let me feel your forehead." She reached up and placed her hand on his forehead before he could protest, and then dropped it with a hum of approval. "You're not running a fever anymore, so that's good. You feel better yet? Did you get any rest?" She didn't wait for his answer, turning to Speirs. "Did you make him get some rest, sir?"

"Of course I did," Speirs replied, looking affronted. "Medic's orders."

"Damn straight, sir," Sam quipped with a grin, before she cocked her head at Lipton. "Well, I think you're on the mend. Breathing okay? How does your chest feel? Does it hurt when you take a breath?"

"No, doc. I'm good. I still feel a little tired, but I'll rest up tonight before we move off the line tomorrow."

"Do you think you need another shot of penicillin?"

Lipton shook his head. "I'll be okay. Save it for someone that might really need it."

Sam looked dubious, but relented, shrugging her shoulders and nodding her head. She turned to Speirs, raising an eyebrow. "Now that the lieutenant is all situated, I think I should tell you that _you_ need to get some sleep, sir. You look terrible. No offense, of course, captain. I've already wrestled one medic into bed to get some much needed rest; don't make me tackle an officer too."

Speirs seemed to find that amusing, if the faint quirk of his lips was any indication. "Will do, doc. I promise, on my honor, that I will get plenty of sleep tonight."

"Good." Satisfied that she could trust the two men to look after themselves (although sometimes she wondered how the boys were _all_ this thick headed about their health), she turned to leave, passing Welsh again (who was carrying a flask of what she knew was not water) and brushing by Nixon, Winters and Jones.

Jones was being promoted, she realized, catching the tail end of what Winters was saying to him just as she reached Webster again. She turned to follow Web's gaze, before shrugging and stepping around him to pester George.

"Guess we lost another platoon leader, huh Web?" George asked, watching Sam skirt around boxes and then eagerly reach for the crate in front of him. "Hey, hey. Miss nosy. Get out of my supply crates."

"Oh, what, you let everyone else dig into these boxes but not _me_?" She glanced up as Skinny returned, arms out for more ration packs. "Skinny, tell George to stop it."

"Stop it, George," Skinny told the radioman with a grin, and Sam rolled her eyes.

"You guys are horrible. Anyway, George, got any supplies for me? Spina, Gene and I are gettin' a little low." The stuff she'd pilfered from the aid station hadn't been as much as she'd thought; between the three of them, it was only enough to last a few days. Sam didn't know how much longer they'd be on the line or what would happen next, but she would be damned if she let what happened before they went to Bastogne happen again. If she had her way, they'd have enough supplies to last until next year.

"Yeah, I think I got some stuff. Lemme check." George reached down to the floor, moving a few crates before finding the one he was looking for. Instead of rations and winter shoe packs, it was filled with medical supplies. Sam raised a brow when he lifted it and set it on the table with a 'thunk.' "What?" George demanded. "I figured you'd bug me at some point about the supplies, so I got some ready for you."

"I don't know if I should be touched or concerned."

"Touched. Touched is a good feeling to feel."

888

Easy Company moved out of Hagenau and returned to the French artillery garrison near Mourmelan, France. They received a Distinguished Unit Citation from General Eisenhower for their heroic defense of Bastogne.

It was the first time the men were able to rest, relax, and forget about the war in a long time. They all took advantage of it, enjoying passes to Paris, catching up with pretty girls, drinking, smoking and generally enjoying life.

Sam wasn't much interested in going out to celebrate anything, particularly because she didn't feel she needed to. There was nothing to celebrate for her. Good men had been killed or wounded and lost, and she was still feeling their absence deeply, particularly Skip Muck and Alex Penkala; she certainly didn't begrudge the boys their fun because God knew they deserved it. She just didn't want to join in.

At night, when she went to sleep, she could see their faces flashing through her mind's eye. The faces of the men who had been lost, wounded or killed. Hoobler always came to mind, his ashen skin and open eyes staring at her accusingly. Dukeman was another; she would never forget the sight of him, or the accusation in his empty stare.

 _Why didn't you save me?_

It was something she contended with quietly, waking up in a cold sweat at night in the tent barracks, breathing heavily and wiping surprised tears from her eyes. She would always sit in her bunk, staring at the cloth ceiling for hours until fatigue or the sounds of the men sleeping in the cots around her lulled her back into a restless sleep. She didn't have the nightmares every night, but she still had them, and they bothered her deeply.

For the most part, though, she remained as chipper as she could, putting aside thoughts of faces and names and mourning for the times she spent alone; those were things best dealt with in private, and not even Eugene knew about the ache in her heart.

She had a job to do, still, so she wasn't about to let her feelings get in the way of that. She pushed on, spending time with the men, volunteering at the hospital and medical tents, running errands, and generally keeping so busy that she was wearing herself thin.

Sam had even managed to sit down and find time to write out letters to Lizzie and her mother, both of which she sent (she mentioned the boys, especially Eugene, and talked about some of the things she'd done, but kept the letters as light as possible), as well as Lew Helman, Sidney Seda, Bill, Toye and Buck. Those she kept in her bag, unwilling to send them just yet and constantly revising what she wanted to say. She wasn't really sure why, but she just didn't think she wanted to send them letters right now.

Eugene, for his part, watched all of this with quiet reserve. He wasn't blind, and he wasn't stupid, and he knew Sam was running herself ragged to avoid something. He'd seen her do it before in Bastogne when she was trying to avoid talking to him, and he was well aware of the signs. He just couldn't begin to guess what she was running from until one night when it finally all made sense.

Gene hadn't been able to get to sleep that night, lying in his cot, staring at the tent ceiling. His mind was filled with thoughts, memories of men he'd saved or hadn't been able to help, the sounds of artillery shells and the screams of the wounded; all of those things haunted him when he closed his eyes, and even though he could usually block them out pretty well, they were particularly invasive that night, and he couldn't find it in him to sleep.

When he heard a sharp, feminine gasp in the dark, he sat up quickly, medic instincts on overdrive as he recognized the voice and the sound; it was Sam. He could just make out her silhouette in the filtered light of the half-moon outside, shadows obscuring her figure and her face. He watched with a furrowed brow as she seemed to throw back her blankets, her breathing heavy and labored as she slipped from her bed. She shuffled around in the dark, and Eugene heard the soft rustle as the flap of the tent they were billeted in opened and Sam slipped out the crack.

Concerned, he threw back his covers and grabbed his boots, creeping across the dirt floor and out the flap after her. In the wan moonlight, he had to look hard to find her, eyes darting up and down the dirt paths that led between tents and buildings until he caught sight of her. She was a small figure in the darkness near one of the few trees on the garrison, curled in on herself with her arms around her pulled up knees and her face buried in them. Concerned, Eugene tugged on his boots and made a beeline for her, his concern growing when she didn't even look up to acknowledge him.

He settled down beside her, knee and leg brushing her own, and simply sat in silence. He was patient, and he knew she'd tell him what was going on when she was ready. Until then, he sat quietly beside her, not making a move to hold or hug her to him, and simply offering what comfort he could through his closeness. She was shivering, her shoulders silently heaving, and he knew it wasn't because she was cold.

A good twenty minutes passed in silence, until Sam's muffled voice finally broke it. "I keep seeing them, Gene," she murmured, and he turned his head to look at the top of her hair. It shone a deep crimson in the moonlight, far longer than he'd ever seen it before. Without her hat, she looked more like the woman she was than the scruffy soldier girl she tried to be.

"Seeing who?" he asked softly.

"Them," she responded, her voice strained. "The men who…the men who didn't make it. I keep seeing them when I close my eyes. All I can hear are the explosions, the screams. I keep hearing their voices, telling me I didn't save them, that I was too slow or too late."

Gene finally understood what it was she was running from; he was running from the exact same thing. He fixed his gaze ahead, and nodded. "I know, Sam," he whispered. "I see 'em too. I hear it too."

"How do you make it stop, Gene?"

She sounded so broken that it made his heart ache, and he finally reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. Sam stiffened, but leaned into him, still curled in on herself. He felt her raise her head, resting it on his shoulders, hair tickling his chin and neck. She was trembling, her body shivering against his, and he hugged her tighter.

"You don't," he admitted. "You don't make it stop 'cuz it will always be a part of ya. Everythin' we done here, all of it, the good and the bad. It's a part of us. It's gonna hurt, sho, but we gotta remember that we did the best we could. I know it hurts." He gave her shoulders a squeeze, feeling her trembling start to die down. "I know, trust me. Every time I close my damn eyes it's all I see, all I feel and remember. But it ain't anythin' we can change, and we have to remember that. We have to move on and live our lives, 'cuz that's what they'd want. It's what we owe them. We gotta live in their honor; if we stay stuck in the past, in the 'what ifs' and the 'coulda beens,' then we ain't livin'."

Sam made a noise of assent against his neck, and he reached up to wrap his other arm around her, pulling her closer. He felt her arms tentatively reach up to wind around him as well, and he closed his eyes, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. "You _never_ forget them, Sam. You _never_ forget what we done here, what we fought for. But you _never_ let it keep you from movin' forward, from livin'. 'Cuz if you ain't livin', then you might as well be dead."


	15. Something for the Rest of Us

A/N: Pffff. I planned a chapter for last week, but it didn't happen. I am so sorry! I literally have so much to do that I am shutting down. Ugh. Anyway, here's a new chapter! This story is finished, but for some snippets and oneshots I am adding and I haven't decided if I want to make them separate or just post them at the end; I'll probably end up just adding them to the end. Happy 15th anniversary to the Band of Brothers HBO series!

I also finished 'Little Red Dress,' my Pacific Sledge x OC story if you wanna check it out! Check out 'Trouble with the Universe' for some more Gene x Sam nerd fluff.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

8888

" _All tyranny, bigotry, aggression, and cruelty are wrong, and whenever we see it, we must never be silent." -Ingrid Newkirk_ **  
**

 **Chapter 15: Something for the Rest of Us**

Easy Company was pulled back to the line in April, sent to the Ruhr Pocket near the Rhine River.

They entered Germany early in the month, and there was little for the men to do to be particularly useful. Mostly, they spent the time cleaning up messes, helping sort supplies, or fraternizing with the locals.

Sam, Gene and Spina spent a majority of their time in the medical tents, directing traffic, helping to count and tally up supplies, and dishing them out to both the men and any locals who happened to need them. They were also designated to help out with the food situation, taking it upon themselves to make sure the men were able to eat and scrounging food wherever they could find it (because the men complained about the rations).

Soldiers like George Luz and Frank Perconte were really helpful in that department; they were expert scroungers, and often let the medics know about prime pickings and where to find them. As Sam was ferrying things back and forth between buildings, she was flagged down by the two men. Frank was carrying his helmet in his hands and grinning as she approached.

"Frank, George. How's it goin'?" She peered down into Frank's helmet, surprised to see chicken eggs sitting in hay in the bottom. "Oh wow, eggs!" she cried, gleefully reaching for them. Frank moved the helmet out of her reach, and she scowled. "What gives?"

"We had to work _very_ hard to get these eggs," George told her loftily. Frank shot him a sour look, knowing George hadn't been much help at all and he'd done most of the work to get them. Sam didn't have to know that, of course. "And they come with a price."

Sam raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips. "And?" 

"And we want you to cook 'em for us."

"What makes you think I can cook, George? I'm Irish."

"But…you're a girl."

Sam's brows drew down into a dark look and George physically flinched. He quickly backpedaled. "Uh, I mean…well, we just thought…maybe you could make us something since…you're so talented and smart and so _good_ at things!"

Rolling her eyes, the female medic held out her hands for the helmet. "Nice save, George. Classy. I _guess_ I can make something for you boys. But I'll need a few things first."

A few hours later, Sam found herself grudgingly stuck in the kitchen of one of the houses, ironically peeling potatoes and quietly grumbling about it. All around her, men were chatting and laughing, joking around as they lounged about in the kitchen, spilling out into the other rooms.

When she'd sent Frank and George for ingredients and supplies, she didn't anticipate that the two idiots would tell _all_ the men she was going to cook something. She'd only agreed to cook for Frank and George. Now, though, almost every man she was familiar with had shown up, and plopped their lazy asses down around the room. Gene and Spina were absent, but she figured it was because they were busy, or no one had thought to tell them.

" _Why_ am I doing this?" she muttered, knife steadily peeling the potato she was holding in her hand. Her pile of ingredients had swelled to five times what she'd originally anticipated; apparently, when Frank and George had spilled the beans, they'd also enlisted the men to help gather more things up.

She was surprised they'd found so much butter, cheese and milk, what with rationing, but maybe Germany was a little different than back home. She'd planned to make 'Irish Potato Casserole,' a recipe she was familiar with and had helped her ma make many a time, but as slow as she peeled potatoes, she doubted they'd be eating anytime soon. She'd already spent the better part of an hour just peeling as the room started to fill up.

The raucous sound of laughter from the men in the rooms made her flinch, and she ground her teeth together as she glared down at the potatoes. _Okay, nope, fuck this_. She didn't care if she was the only woman here and it was 'woman's work,' these guys were going to help or they were going to starve while she laughed over their misery.

She grabbed the potato she was peeling and whirled, striding over to Malarkey, who was sitting with his boots propped up on the table and talking to Babe, George and Frank. With a loud 'thud,' she slammed the potato onto the table, and then in the next instant, had flipped her knife and jammed it straight into the wood. Don, Babe, George and Frank froze, staring up at Sam as the entire room went eerily silent. "Peel," she instructed. "You're Irish. You know how. Don't fuck it up." Her gaze snapped to George, who went rigid, scrambling up out of his chair and saluting automatically under her fiery glare. "You! Help him peel."

Frank was grinning, but quickly dropped the smile when Sam turned to face him. "Get off your ass, Frank. And the rest of you. If you want food, then don't just sit around and do nothing. Grab a potato, start peeling. Babe!"

Babe stiffened in his chair. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Find me some casserole pans or something that looks like them. I need to cook this stuff in something."

"On it, sarge!"

"Liebgott, Christiansen, Webster, start cutting up the peeled potatoes," Sam barked, pointing to the men who were peeling. The three named soldiers nodded, unwilling to get on Sam's bad side. "Martin, Garcia, Hashey, Bull, you're on onion duty. Mince it. That means cut it as small as you can manage." Sam grinned as the men nodded and grabbed their ingredients, now feeling a bit less overwhelmed.

"The rest of you, find me bowls, plates, silverware, extra tables. I need to mix all this stuff up, and I can't very well do it without bowls. The other stuff is for you, so get whatever the hell you think you'll need!"

"Yes ma'am!" the men chorused, the promise of good food that was not army issued aiding in their speed and eagerness to help.

Sam placed her hands on her hips, watching the assembly line of men as they did as they were instructed; most were peeling potatoes, and the rest were cutting them up. Nodding, she made her way over to the oven, glad she'd picked one of the German houses that actually had a larger one; it was a pretty good sized home, decent and pretty, and she guessed that the people who lived here might have even had servants.

The stove was easy enough to figure out, and she managed to get it lit, eager to get it warm so the cooking would go faster. The idea of cooking one of her mother's recipes for the men she'd come to care about made her feel good inside, despite the overwhelming amount of ingredients she was going to try and use. She had her mixing spoons, the cheese grater (which she'd need to grab and get started on all the damn cheese they'd brought), paprika and salt she'd scrounged from the house they were in, and more eggs than she could count, no doubt looted by some of the men.

The sound of boot steps shuffling at the door alerted her to the arrival of more men, and she glanced up to see Winters, Speirs, Lipton, Nixon and Welsh peeking in, looking somewhat unsure. "Welcome, sirs," she greeted, and they finally made it all the way in, heading towards her. Harry and Nixon were grinning, and Lipton and Winters smiled with intrigue. Speirs was smirking, as usual. "Come to join the fun?"

"We heard you were making food, so we came to see if _we_ were allowed to eat any," Nixon joked, leaning against the counter beside her.

Sam raised a brow as Winters nodded. "It seems," he told her, glancing around at the men. "That you know how to take charge. They made you a sergeant for a reason, I think. Nice job, Sam. Now what can we help with?"

Surprised, Sam could only blink for a second before she turned and grabbed one of the wheels of cheese, handing it and the grater over to Winters. "Uh, you can grate this for me, sir. As much as you can."

Nixon was snickering under his breath until Sam handed him another wheel of cheese, and his face fell. "Use your knife, Nix. Make yourself useful for once."

"Uuuuugh fine," he growled, grabbing some plates for the cheese and following his friend over to the table and taking a seat to start grating.

Speirs, Welsh and Lipton were standing expectantly, waiting for their orders. Sam was a little at a loss. "Um…Do any of you know how to crack eggs without ruining them?" When Lipton raised a tentative hand, she nodded. "When they bring me back bowls-"

"Hey doc, got some of your supplies." Sergeant Talbert appeared beside them, holding a stack of mismatched bowls as if he'd been summoned by the mention of them alone. Sam blinked and took them, grinning back at her fellow sergeant.

"Thanks, Tab. You have done your duty for the day and are free to lounge." He let out a whoop as he wandered off, and Sam shook her head, setting the bowls out on the counter. "Lip, crack the eggs. Harry, start mixing them."

"Are you making potato casserole, doc?" Welsh asked, rolling up his sleeves as Lipton grabbed the eggs, easily cracking them and setting the shells to the side; he'd probably done this a thousand times before, Sam realized, helping his mother at the boarding house she ran.

"Indeed I am, Harry. A _lot_ of casserole, apparently."

"Sounds good; my ma always made the best potato casseroles. Can't wait to try yours and compare."

"Well," Sam grumbled. "If it tastes like shit, can you just pretend that it's good and compliment me, please? I've never made this much casserole before."

Harry saluted with a smirk. "Can do."

Sam turned to Speirs, who was still quietly waiting for her to give him a job. "Uh…Sorry, cap. I don't have much else for you to do. Maybe you could do me a favor and supervise the boys, make sure everything gets set up? I sent them out for more tables and some other supplies. So when they get back, tell 'em where to put it."

Speirs nodded sharply. "All right, Sam."

Sam watched him wander off to do as he was asked, her eyes roving over the men in the rooms, no longer taking up space without being useful. They were still chatting and laughing, ribbing with one another about their individual jobs and cracking jokes at each other's expense. Sam watched them all with a fond smile, hands on her hips. This was nice. This was good.

This felt like home.

888

The food was an actual success, something that, frankly, surprised the hell out of Sam.

She'd made multiple pans of casserole (the pans courtesy of a tenacious Babe, who hadn't stopped until he'd found her at least seven of them) and the men had dug in with gusto. Sam sat back, leaning against the counter with a tin of coffee in her hand as she watched the men dig into her food, coming back for seconds and thirds and even fourths.

She'd set aside some for Ralph and Spina, knowing that once their shifts at the aid station ended, they'd be there to eat.

"Doc? Aren't you going to have any?"

Sam glanced up to see Winters standing beside her, plate in hand and fork already halfway to his mouth. She shrugged, giving her head a little shake, and brought the cup to her lips. "I will, sir," she admitted. "I'm waiting for Gene and Ralph to get here. We don't get to spend much time with the three of us together. At least, not without someone pulling us away to do something or find something or bandage something." Her grin told him she wasn't all concerned about being so busy, and he internally sighed with relief.

He'd been worried that his medics weren't getting enough of a break; the rest of the men spent a lot of time at outposts, or helping with supplies, but they generally got quite a bit of downtime. The medics, however, always seemed so busy, and he knew that was partially his fault. He wasn't about to let them go into another 'Bastogne-like' situation where they had no supplies for anyone. It was important they kept on their toes.

"Good. You really should try it, though. I think you might have outdone yourself." He shoveled another forkful into his mouth, enjoying the taste of good home cooking that he hadn't had since the last time he'd visited home and his mother had fixed him dinner. The casserole brought back a lot of memories and made him feel warm inside.

"Thanks, sir. I think it's so good because everyone helped. If I'd been doing this on my own, we wouldn't have eaten for another four or five hours, I think."

Winters chuckled, chewing slowly, and glancing up over her head to the door. "Well, looks like that didn't take long. Spina and Gene are here, Sam. Better go greet them." He gave her a friendly nudge, and she set down her cup to go and meet the two medics at the door.

When Spina and Gene saw her, they both smiled, though Gene's smile was a little wider than Ralph's. Sam greeted them eagerly, grabbing both of their hands and pulling them into the room. "We all made food," she informed them, and Ralph laughed.

"Yeah, we can see that. What brought all this on?"

Sam released their hands to smack the back of Frank's head lightly as she walked past.

"God damn it, Sam," Frank muttered, shoveling more food into his mouth.

"George and Frank decided they wanted food, and went to ask the only _woman_ who would cook it for them. So after they _apologized_ for stereotyping me-" Both men grinned sheepishly, ducking their heads. "-I agreed to cook for them. And they told everyone. And then I forced them all to do my bidding, and voila! Casserole."

"Not a single thing you just said surprises me," Gene admitted as they reached the food Sam had set aside for them. She handed Spina a plate, and then Gene, eagerly staring at them as they looked down at it. Gene raised a brow. "Um…What?" She was looking at them with such a bright, happy smile that he was beginning to become concerned that something was wrong.

"Taste it and tell me what you think."

He shared a look with Spina, before the two men shrugged and grabbed a forkful, sticking it in their mouths. Both of them froze instantly, eyes going wide, and Sam's smile faltered slightly. Winters was hovering just over her shoulder, looking as though he was trying very hard not to laugh. "So?" Sam asked tentatively. "Is it…good?" 

"Holy shit," Spina muttered beside him, and immediately went in for another bite.

Gene was too busy having flashbacks to Sunday dinners with his family, everyone gathered around the table after church and enjoying good food and good company. He didn't realize he was staring at her until Sam snapped her fingers in front of his face, looking concerned. "Gene?"

"This…this is the best food I have eaten in a long, _long_ time, _cher_ ," he muttered quietly. His eyes darted from the plate and back to her, the blush on her face and the shine in her eyes enough to make him want to wrap her up in his arms. The men around him, especially the officers, kept him from showing any sort of affection or appreciation in the way he most wanted to, so he settled for a beaming smile of thanks. "Amazing."

Sam's blush deepened with her smile, and she turned to fix herself a plate. Gene watched her as he took another bite, before his eyes darted up to Captain Winters. The man was smiling secretly, his blue gaze narrowed with knowing and understanding. Gene chewed slowly, knowing that his captain probably suspected about him and Sam, but also knowing he could trust the man to never say a word or bring it up.

All he knew, was that if Sam was this good of a cook, then she was definitely coming home with him to Louisiana, and he was _never_ letting her go.

888

"I literally hate this so much."

Sam and Eugene sat at the front of the large group of soldiers, each of them men haphazardly occupying chairs all around them. Both her and Gene's boots were up on the little table in front of them, and they were leaning back, looking unimpressed. Well, Sam looked unimpressed; Gene looked like he might be dozing. Beside Sam, a replacement, O'Keefe, shot her a look as though wondering how she could voice such a thing out loud, and to an officer, no less. Christiansen was just behind the two medics, and he leaned forward, arm across the back of Sam's chair.

"Come on, doc. Nix's current events lectures are as entertaining as it gets around here."

Sam rolled her eyes as Nixon droned on about what was happening back home. "Riveting, Pat. Just riveting."

"I'm sure you'll all be glad to know _Oklahoma_ is still playing," Nix remarked, head down as he read from a clipboard.

"Eh!" George crowed just to the right of Sam, and then started to sing, the other men, her included (and Gene in a mumble), joining in. "Ooooookalhoma where the wind comes sweeping through the plain! Where the waving wheat, it sure is sweet and the wind comes-" George made a cutting motion across his neck, and all the voices fell silent, save for O'Keefe as he sang the last "-right behind the rain" on his own. A smattering of laughter rose up from the men.

"O'Keefe are you sitting on your bayonet?" Christiansen joked. "Why don't you leave the singing to Luz."

"Hey yeah," George remarked. "Unless you wanna do like, uh, _Surrey with the Fringe on Top_ O'Keefe?"

"Awww, Rita Hayworth is getting married," Nix broke in, lifting the paper on his clipboard and glancing at the boys.

"Aw Rita, say it isn't so," George grumbled.

Nix mumbled a few more things, clearly not finding any of them worth mentioning, before he stopped. "Ah, war time news. Uh, resistance in the Ruhr pocket's crumbling; it looks like there might be a breakout in Ramagen." The men all made lackluster noises of approval. "Apparently, the Krauts forgot to blow up one of their bridges when they made it back over the Rhine. I guess the boys in the 17th Airborne did okay after all?"

"Ah, forget it," George called, and some of the men made agreeing rumbles. "We'd be in Berlin by now, sir, if it was us instead of them. Am I right?"

Nix made a noise of assent, one brow raised in amusement. "Okay, boys. Looks like that's all I got for ya today. You're free to go. And no more complaining about my 'current events' lectures, Sam. You're making me self-conscious."

Sam rolled her eyes, leaning further back in her chair. "And I'm sure that is just _devastating_ for you, sir," she replied, turning to shoot Gene a smirk. He lifted his head, staring at her through eyes narrowed with amusement.

The men started to disperse, some hanging around to finish playing their card game, and Gene gave Sam a nudge. "I've gotta head to the aid station. Are you comin', _cher_?"

"Yeah," she agreed, her eyes on the new replacement, O'Keefe, as he stood unsurely among the throngs of men, seeming as though he was lost. "I'll be there in a second. I wanna talk to someone first."

"Suit yourself," Gene replied, following her gaze. "Just don't scare him too bad. You know how indimidatin' you can be."

"Oh, ha, ha, you wise ass. Go bandage a practice dummy, why don't you?" Sam laughed, before the two medics parted ways and she made her way towards O'Keefe. "Hey there," she greeted as she reached him. "You're the new guy; O'Keefe right?" He seemed startled to be addressed by her, and nodded slowly. He'd only been with the Company for a week at most, and she hadn't had much of a chance to talk to him. "How are you settling in? Sorry about George giving you a hard time; he can be a real joker when he gets the mind to be. But it's all in good fun."

"Uh…Yeah. Thank you," O'Keefe replied, eyes darting away. "You're the lady medic they talk about for Easy, aren't you? Sam Branigan, right?"

"Yes indeedy. Although now I'm concerned about what you've heard about me."

"Nothing bad," he hurriedly assured her, cheeks slightly pink. "Just…they mentioned you a few times. Mostly telling me things I _shouldn't_ say or do around you…" He trailed off, looking unsure.

"I can only imagine. Right, listen, don't worry about the guys. They'll heckle you, maybe give you a hard time, but they're good men. They'll warm up to you in no time, O'Keefe." She smiled reassuringly, giving his arm a tap as she turned to leave.

"Patty."

"What was that?"

"My friends call me Patty."

Sam stared at him for a moment, as though considering, before she nodded. "All right then. See ya around, Patty."

8888

When they moved into Sturzelberg, Germany, the men were a little busier. There were patrols every now and again, some night marches, and even stints out at the outposts near the edge of town.

Sam now found herself jogging down the road towards one of the OPs, hands cradling an empty machine gun bullet tin. Inside was hot soup that she'd managed to wheedle out of the cooks in the mess; she was eager to take it out to Tony Garcia and Lester Hashey before they came back in off of outpost duty. She knew the food they had was terrible (Garcia complained about it often enough).

As she jogged down the road, she caught sight of two men headed towards her, and slowed to a walk as she reached them. "Ah, shit," she muttered. "I was just bringing you guys some food."

"Aw, man. I wish you'd come earlier, doc," Garcia grouched. "That crap they leave in the OP is terrible." He looked longingly at the MG container, and Sam shook her head.

"No way, Tony; there's plenty of good food back in town. This is for the guys at the OP. Who took over for ya?"

"Frank and that new guy. What's his name?" Hashey informed, patting Garcia's shoulder.

"O'Keefe, I think," Garcia replied, humming thoughtfully. "Real gung-ho kid. Keeps asking about going to Berlin or some shit like that. He's gonna piss off the wrong guy and get a good smack in the mouth."

Sam furrowed her brow, and shook her head. "Lay off, you two. He's new; we were all new back in Holland. You know what it's like to be a replacement. Don't give him a hard time. Doctor's orders."

Garcia and Hashey grinned, hiking their guns up higher on their shoulders. "Sure thing, doc," Hashey agreed, patting Sam as he and Garcia continued on their way. "We'll lighten up. You better make sure you tell Frank too. I don't think he likes O'Keefe much."

Rolling her eyes, Sam took off down the road again, the OP just up ahead. She waved to the MPs who were guarding the higher road and the truck crossing before she headed dirt path towards Frank and O'Keefe. She could hear Frank shouting something angrily at his companion as O'Keefe fiddled with the OP's machine gun, and she picked up her pace. She could just make the two men out; O'Keefe had his back to her, hands stilled on the gun, and Frank was clutching a book in his hands, fingers digging fiercely into the pages in his anger.

"Do you know why no one remembers your name?" Frank demanded, probably responding to some comment O'Keefe had made. "It's because no one _wants_ to remember _your_ name. There's too many Smiths, Demattos and O'Keefe's and O'Brian's who show up here, replacing _Toccoa_ men that you dumb replacements got killed in the first place! And they're all like you! They're all piss and vinegar! 'Where da Krauts at?!' 'Let me at 'em!' 'When do I get to jump into Berlin?!' Two days later, there they are, with their blood and guts hanging out, and they're screamin' for a medic, beggin' for their God damn mother! The dumb fucks don't even know they're dead yet."

When O'Keefe tried to turn around to ignore what Frank was saying, the fiery Italian reached out and smacked his arm. "Eh! Are you listenin' to me? You realize this is the best part of fucking war I seen? I got hot chow, hot showers, warm bed. _Germany_ is almost as good as bein' home!"

"Frank!"

Frank paused mid-rant, jerking his head up to see Sam standing just beyond the OP, eyes wide as she stared at him. She was clutching the machine gun case close to her chest, breathing uneven. "Frank, what the hell?" she demanded, stalking towards him angrily. "Don't say things like that. What's your problem?"

"Shit, Sam," Frank started, but was cut off as she marched forward, and slammed down the case full of soup on one of the crates. "I'm sorry. Um…I didn't mean for you to hear that. It wasn't directed at you, honest!"

Sam wasn't really angry that he'd snapped at O'Keefe; it was true, it really was, and it was bound to happen sooner or later. Maybe the guy needed a wakeup call. But she didn't need reminders of the sounds and the voices and the screams she faced every time she closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted to hear was someone putting words to her morbid thoughts about how she couldn't save everyone, about how the men were all really dead before she could do a thing to help them.

"It's fine, Frank," she muttered, not meeting his gaze. "Don't worry about it. I brought you guys some soup. You should eat before it gets cold." Her breathing was slowing, steadying, but part of her wanted to turn and run and keep going until she made it back into town and to Eugene. He was her anchor in times like these, when her thoughts and fears and anger overwhelmed her and pressed down on her. He was her lifeline. He was the one who understood better than anyone what she saw when she went to sleep at night.

Instead of running, she forced herself to sit down beside Frank, grabbing the book he was holding from his hands. She focused on slowing her breathing, trying to clear her mind of the furious thoughts swirling around in it. Beside her, Frank was staring at her, his mouth working soundlessly, and O'Keefe was staring at Frank, his own eyes as wide as Sam's had been, cowed into silence by Frank's outburst.

The three soldiers sat in silence, Sam's eyes fixed on the pages of the book, though not actually reading a word. O'Keefe dropped his gaze to the machine gun he'd been fiddling with, and Frank was staring at his boots.

Sam reached out, gently patting Frank's knee, and he relaxed slightly, shoulders slumping as he leaned against her in silence.

"It's been two years since I seen home," Frank murmured, sitting back against the sand bags tiredly. "Two years."

88888

Not long after that, they got the news that three hundred thousand Krauts had surrendered and Easy Company got ready to move out of Sturzelberg.

It was mostly chaos as the men gathered their supplies and belongings, loading up into trucks. Sam situated herself in one of them near the cab, leaning against it and watching tiredly as the men made ready to leave. She heard Christiansen order the men to get into the trucks, clapping his hands to get them to move faster, and suddenly she was squished into the back next to Gene and Spina. Webster was on Ralph's other side, and beside him, Joe Liebgott and then Patrick O'Keefe. Across from them, Frank Perconte, Private Janovec, and George Luz, Bull Randleman, Lester Hashey and Tony Garcia all crammed onto their side of the truck as it roared to life and rumbled down the road, following the line in front of it.

Gene was watching Sam, her head lolling tiredly against the cab of the truck, red curls peeking out from beneath the brim of her hat. She had her eyes closed, and he thought she was asleep until she asked: "Where are we headed?"

"To the Alps," Gene responded, as though they were only heading down the block. "You okay?"

"A little tired," she admitted, eyes still closed.

Gene leaned closer to be heard over the rumble of the trucks and whispered: "You havin' nightmares again, _cher_?"

"Eh, a few," Sam replied, and she opened her eyes to smile at him, throwing caution to the wind and leaning on his shoulder instead of the truck. "But nothing I can't handle. I'm fine. How 'bout you? You've been so busy; I've hardly seen you the past few days."

Gene had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry about that. I, uh…Well, I was lookin' for something."

This piqued her interest, and Sam sat up, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? What were you looking for? You shoulda asked me so I could have helped you."

Gene didn't think he should have mentioned it here, on the truck, in front of a bunch of the men. Now she was curious, and if he tried to shut down any questions she had, she would heckle and wheedle at him until she caused a scene and got the information out of him. He figured he might as well show her what he'd been hunting for; he doubted any of the men on the truck would care.

Digging around in his bag, he waved a hand in front of Sam's face. "Close yo' eyes." He saw the confusion on her face, but she obediently did as she was told. Ralph was leaning over, looking across Gene's shoulder with a grin; he knew what his fellow medic had been up to, and had even helped him hunt for what was in his bag. It hadn't been easy; finding a gift she'd appreciate and one that she could use was harder than Gene thought. It had taken the two medics since Hagenau to finally locate what they were looking for.

Gene pulled out the gift, grabbing Sam's hand and placing the present in it. He saw her face scrunch up, before her eyes fluttered open and widened in surprise. "Holy shit!" she exclaimed, garnering the attention of the other men in the truck.

Gene grinned. "Merry Christmas," he told her, nodding to the gift she was holding.

"Gene," Ralph supplied dryly. "Christmas was like, five fucking months ago."

"Aw, Gene…" Sam looked down at the hat he'd placed in her hands. It was pretty similar to the one she wore now, with a little bill and pinned up sides, but where hers was an olive drab green that had faded to a murky brown, this one looked pretty new, and still had its green color. She quickly reached up and removed her tattered old hat, stuffing it quickly into her bag (she'd mend it eventually, but there hadn't been any time lately) and quickly jammed her new hat on her head. It fit like a glove, and she turned to Gene with the widest smile he'd ever seen. "Thank you, Gene! Best Christmas present I ever got!"

"Took him _forever_ to find the damn thing," Spina quipped.

"Spina helped. A little," Gene admitted, and Ralph rolled his eyes.

"No one ever appreciates me. If I didn't look after you two idiots, you'd both die from neglect."

Sam reached out to awkwardly hug Gene around the neck, and then managed to do the same for Ralph, balancing precariously as the truck bounced along the road. "Thank you, really. Both of you. I love it!"

"Nice hat, Sam," Web commented from the other side of Spina, and Joe, sitting beside him, winked.

"Lookin' good!"

George was grinning across from the little scene, and eagerly leaned back, voice warbling up joyfully as he started a song for the soldiers. Sam and Gene shared secret smiles as the men joined in, their happiness and glee bubbling over into their singing.

" _He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright,_

 _He checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight;_

 _He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar,_

' _You ain't gonna jump no more!'_

 _Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

 _Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

 _Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

 _He ain't gonna jump no more!"_

Gene and Sam sang along as the song progressed, George conducting with his hands as all the men in the trucks eagerly joined them, laughing and joking and ribbing with one another. As they reached the chorus about medics, Spina, Gene and Sam all nudged one another.

" _The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild,_

 _The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled their sleeves and smiled,_

 _For it had been a week or more since last a 'Chute had failed,_

 _He ain't gonna jump no more!"_

The three medics jokingly rolled their sleeves as they swayed to the song, plastering their faces with the most excited looks they could muster, and the men in their truck laughed, giving their boots friendly kicks in amusement.

" _Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

 _Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

 _Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

 _He ain't gonna jump no more!"_

88888

Their caravan moved through different towns, stopping for the night and kicking German families out of their homes to commandeer them for the boys.

It didn't sit well with Sam, but she understood the necessity. Besides, it was only for one night each time, and the families were always allowed back in. She knew they often came back to homes devoid of food and some shiny silver, but it was a small price to pay for all the bloodshed and destruction their country had put the boys through. She figured it was a fair trade.

They moved out each morning, making their way to a town called Landsberg next. The most exciting thing that happened on the ride was the sight of some French soldiers executing three surrendered German POWs. Sam was sitting next to O'Keefe (Gene had grown tired of sitting and was standing in the truck, up near the cab), and although she ignored the sight of the men being shot on their knees, she saw him jump, eyes wide and mouth parted in surprise and horror.

When he looked across to the other men for some sort of explanation, they offered none, faces blank, or in Liebgott's case, smiling. O'Keefe's eyes immediately darted back to Sam, and she shrugged one shoulder, giving his knee a pat. "Don't worry about it," she told him, and he nodded, swallowing thickly as he hung his head. She felt bad about having to tell him that, but he'd get used to it.

Eventually.

When they reached the next town, Winters and Speirs sent out patrols, and the sergeants started designating men to sweep and check the houses. Sam, Gene and Ralph jumped down, and Captain Nixon approached them.

"Sam, come with me. Gene, you're with sergeant Lipton. Ralph, I want you to go with sergeant Talbert. We need to find some suitable places for the men to stay and look for a good place to set up your aid station; we're gonna be here a while."

"Right, sir," Gene agreed, and he reached out to subtly touch Sam's hand, before he and Ralph broke away, going their separate ways to find their respective officers.

"Come on, Sam," Nixon told her, jerking his head. He was already moving as she followed, making a beeline for a large, expensive looking house down the block. Sam figured he was probably after some booze, and had chosen just her to go with him because he a) wanted to be discreet and b) wanted her to help carry it in her medic bag because no one would suspect her of harboring alcohol.

As they entered the house, Sam didn't really know what to expect. It was silent, and empty.

"Hello?" Nixon called, walking further into the house and drawing the pistol from its holster at his side. Sam was right behind him, bag clutched tightly to her hip, eyes darting all around warily. While Nix was being rather blasé about entering someone's home, Sam was wary; there was no telling who lived here or what to expect.

"Hello?" Nixon called again, and the two ventured into the foyer of the home, decorated rather smartly in beautiful furniture. Sam noted that there was a lot of lace and varnished wood; it was an expensive, aristocratic house.

There was the sound of a record playing, though it had ended and instead of music, there was the odd, scratchy static at the end as it kept spinning around and around. It made the feel of the home even creepier to Sam, and she shivered as Nixon glanced down at the table beside him, putting the gun he'd drawn back in its holster. He reached out and lifted the needle off the spinning record, his face echoing Sam's confusion about why the record was even spinning in the first place.

"Think someone's here?" Sam murmured, not daring to raise her voice.

"Maybe," Nixon replied, turning and immediately making a beeline for a table that had an expensive looking set of crystal alcohol bottles, dark amber liquid swirling in their depths. He uncorked one, taking an experimental sniff, but seemed disappointed in what he found. Sam followed, standing at his side for a moment as he investigated, before something else caught her attention.

She turned to see an inconspicuous frame sitting on a table near the window, a picture of an older man in a German officer's uniform adorning the middle. A black ribbon hung just on the side of it, and Sam knew instantly that the ribbon most likely meant he was dead. She made her way over to it, leaning down to peer into the face of a man who she didn't know, but who had fought in a war against her country. Nixon appeared at her side, snatching the frame up in his hands and staring blankly down at the man. In a move that Sam would call 'unkind,' he immediately dropped the frame on the ground, and the glass shattered around her feet.

"Nix!" she admonished as he ignored her, picking up another, smaller frame with the picture of an older woman in it. Sam bent down to retrieve the picture he'd dropped, scooting the broken glass away from it quietly. She didn't really care that the man had been a German officer; he was dead, so it wasn't as though he could do anything to them anyway. But something about it felt so disrespectful, especially because the man was no longer living.

The sound of soft footsteps had Nixon turning around, and Sam jerked her head up from where she knelt, seeing the same older woman in the picture Nix was holding walk into the room. The woman looked tired, her face pinched with annoyance and sadness, and something else Sam couldn't identify as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Nixon didn't say a word as he locked eyes with the woman briefly, but Sam could see that he was weighing his options. After a few seconds of staring, he set the picture he held back down and headed towards the door, jerking his head for her to follow. The sound of a little dog barking on the stairs followed his retreat, and he vacated the house quickly after that.

Sam was still kneeling on the floor, clutching the frame lightly in her hands. The woman was watching her, one brow raised, eyes wide and lips pursed. The female medic looked between the woman and the frame, before slowly rising to stand, carefully crossing the room in as non-threatening a manner as she could and handing the picture over. The woman seemed surprised as she took it, placing it on one of the tables beside her.

"Sorry," Sam murmured, not knowing what else to say.

"No," the woman replied, and Sam was surprised to hear her speak perfect, if slightly accented, English. " _I_ am sorry."

Both women stared at one another for a long time, before Sam nodded her head and turned to go, the barking of the dog loud in her ears as she stepped out the door. No other words had been exchanged, and she was fine with that. As far as she was concerned, no other words were needed.

888

Sam caught up with Nixon a few yards down the road, having had to jog to find him. When she did catch up, she shot him a dirty look, one he didn't seem to have a reply for.

"What?" he demanded, scowling back at her.

"Nothing, Lewis. Nothing at all." If he didn't know what he'd done wrong, or think anything of it, then she wasn't going to try and make him play martyr. Maybe it would catch up to him eventually, and he'd go and apologize to the woman later. While she doubted that would ever happen, it was a nice thought.

The two of them headed towards where the company command post had been set up, when they were both suddenly assailed by Captain Winters and a hassled looking Frank Perconte. "Nix, doc," Sam called. "Come with us. We've got a situation."

Sam and Nixon exchanged looks, but complied quickly, and Sam found herself piling onto the back of a truck with the rest of the men who had been rounded up to see what Frank had discovered on patrol. Spina and Gene were sitting next to her, and no one was really speaking. She wasn't sure why, but something about the look on Frank's face had them all rattled. It was like something was going to happen, something was coming, and they could all sense it.

When the trucks and jeeps loaded with men rumbled to a stop, Sam finally saw the reason for Frank's mad dash back from the patrol he'd been on, and the look on his face made sense.

There were people—although she wasn't sure if that's what they were at first—locked behind a tall, wooden fence and surrounded by barbed wire. Many of them were hanging onto the fence, probably the only thing holding them up and keeping them from collapsing. The stench of death and decay permeated the air, making many of the men sick as they piled out of the trucks.

The three medics were right behind Winters, and when Sam glanced at Gene, she saw that his face had hardened into an inscrutable mask, though his eyes still widened with horror.

Her own senses were on overdrive; the smell was beyond description, and as the chain on the fence was cut and the soldiers began moving into the compound, she could see why. Dead bodies littered the ground, piled here and there haphazardly. They were so thin, emaciated skeletons strung together by skin stretched too tightly across their bones. Many were naked, their clothes either rotted off, or torn to shreds. There was smoke coming from some of the bodies, looking as though they'd been partly burnt, and Sam lifted her hand to her mouth, trying to keep from becoming ill.

The bodies weren't the worst of it, she realized as she watched the men—shells of human beings—slowly wandering towards them. Some of them were carrying other men who were too sick or weak or too close to the brink of death to walk. Sam felt tears sting her eyes immediately, and she heard Gene beside her, already issuing orders to the men and the other medics who had come along.

Sam had seen combat. She'd seen blood and death and terror. But she'd never seen anything like this. This wasn't combat, this wasn't war. This wasn't supposed to happen. These men had been tortured, caged, killed and starved until they were nothing more than husks of what human beings should be.

As she shuffled further into the compound, one of the men coming towards them grasped her hand, reaching for her and wrapping his arms around her and kissing her cheeks fervently. She stiffened as his sobs reached her ears, his arms tightening as he shook and trembled. Her hands came up automatically, rubbing soothing circles against the grimy clothes he wore, and horrified to feel every single one of his bones through his gown.

"God…Good _God_ ," she whispered, heart hammering in her chest. The man sank to his knees, no longer able to stand, and she followed him, quickly unhooking her canteen and unscrewing the cap. She held it up for him to drink, and he gratefully took a sip as he sobbed, fingers shaking so bad that he couldn't hold it himself. Another man dropped down beside her, and then another, and soon Sam was surrounded, carefully doling out water from her canteen. Someone reached through the throngs and touched her shoulder, and she looked up to see Bull Randleman crouched down near her, holding his canteen aloft in question. She nodded, and he quickly unscrewed the top, helping the men around her take easy sips, patting backs and hands and offering comfort as he could.

"I don't believe this, Bull. I don't _believe_ this," Sam murmured as one of the men she was helping grabbed her sleeve, sobbing uncontrollably against her shoulder. She gently smoothed a hand over his head, and he sobbed harder, pressing his forehead to her jacket. She held her canteen out to another man, encouraging him to take sips. Most of them were crying now, speaking in German and, from what little of the language she understood, thanking her and thanking God as they cried.

"I know, Sam," Bull responded, looking overwhelmed by everything around him. "What the hell is this place?"

"I don't know. But these men need food and water and medical care. We need doctors, not just medics. I don't have anything in my bag that will help them."

She didn't have the equipment to aid these men, didn't have what they'd need. But she could offer them comfort and water until she could help get something set up for them.

"What kind of people could _do_ something like this, Bull?" Sam asked quietly, gently running her hand over a man's forehead as he leaned against her, feeling more of the men do the same behind her, trembling and shaking all around the female medic. She tried to gather them to her, tried to comfort and hold them and do what she could. They grasped her jacket, her hands, her arms, crying, sobbing, babbling incoherently.

"To be honest," she heard Bull over the cacophony of wails. "I don't think whoever did this to them were people at all."

8888

Sam discovered that what they had found was called a Concentration Camp, and it was Hitler's "final solution" to the "Jewish questions." The men who were in it weren't criminals; according to Joe Liebgott, who spoke German and had translated for Captain Winters and one of the prisoners, they were Poles, Gypsies and Jews. They also discovered that there was a woman's camp further down the road.

As horrified as she was, Sam put that aside in order to move forward and do what she could to help. The men raided the town of Landsberg, gathering food and water and supplies for the prisoners at the camp.

They handed out cheeses, bread, and all of it was taken eagerly. Sam was on the truck with Joe Liebgott, handing out chunks of a white, breakable cheese, when he was called away by Captain Winters. She didn't think anything of it as she continued to work, until he came back and jumped up on the bed of the truck, his face screwed up in pain. She paused, hand still outstretched to hand over a chunk of the cheese to a man.

"Joe?"

She saw his brows furrowing, chin trembling as he began to yell in German at the prisoners, all of whom started yelling back, shouting and shaking their heads, their voices becoming strained and frantic as they did so. Joe continued to speak, his voice breaking, and Sam looked from him to the men milling about below them, two and two suddenly clicking together as soldiers from the companies sent to help started trying to round up the prisoners they'd just freed.

"Joe?" she asked again, and stood up in the truck just as he sat down hard on the bench, face scrunched up and shoulders shaking. It took her a second to realize he was crying, and she was shocked to hear the sob that escaped his throat. "Jesus, Joe. What happened?" she demanded, sitting down beside him. Her eyes darted to the prisoners, many of whom were frantically crying as they were ushered back to the prison; she felt her throat constrict, tears stinging the corner of her eyes.

The men they'd freed needed medicine, supervised care, supervised food and water intake. They could die if they ate too much, but the urge to feed them, to help them, to do _something_ , was too great. That was why they'd jumped into action, despite knowing the men had to be kept localized for treatment. They were now being rounded up, pushed back into the camp so they could be monitored to be sure none of them killed themselves with food or scattered before they could receive help.

Joe didn't have to tell her, she decided, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him against her. She already knew what happened.

8888

The military forced the people of the town of Landsberg to enter the concentration camp and help bury the bodies.

Sam found it fitting; there was an anger welling up inside of her at the thought that these people—no, these monsters—had turned a blind eye to what was going on just outside of their town. She couldn't bear to look at them, to look at the women, the children, or the men. Where once she felt sympathy for them, now she felt cold, furious indifference.

She walked the camp with Nixon, just a day after martial law was declared and the MPs forced the townsfolk to start cleaning up the bodies. Many of the men and women she passed looked at her with dark eyes, their faces sick with disgust, anger, pain as they sobbed and worked. She felt nothing for them, leveling them with blank, indifferent looks every time they locked eyes with her.

Nix was striding ahead, and Sam was just behind him but he stopped when he caught sight of an older woman trying to move one of the bodies, failing to do so and slipping into the dirt. She was standing in the middle of a mountain of dead men, unable to keep her balance as she tugged and pulled on their unmoving bodies. Unlike many of the other townspeople, she was not crying outright, but the pain on her face was evident, and as Sam stepped around Nixon to see what had made him stop, she caught the gaze of the woman who's house she'd walked into only a few days earlier.

She couldn't say she was shocked; the lady had probably known all about this. Her husband was a fucking German officer; he could have even been in charge here. While Nixon stood, staring at the woman, Sam shook her head, turning away before the woman could do more than look at her with shame in her eyes.

She _should_ be ashamed, Sam thought fiercely as she strode away, eager to get out of a place filled with so much death.

They should _all_ be ashamed.


	16. Come to Me

A/N: Holy shit this story is almost over. It has consumed so much of my time. I love it so much. The chapter titles for this arc have been brought to you by the Goo Goo Dolls. The next and last arc has yet to be decided.

Anyway, here's another chapter.

I also finished 'Little Red Dress,' my Pacific Sledge x OC story if you wanna check it out! Check out 'Trouble with the Universe' for some more Gene x Sam nerd fluff.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

8888

"And when the day arrives I'll become the sky and I'll become the sea and the sea will come to kiss me for I am going home. Nothing can stop me now." - Trent Reznor **  
**

 **Chapter 16: Come to Me**

Thalem, Germany was nothing more than rubble, but it was where Nixon informed the men that Hitler had shot himself in Berlin and that they'd be moving out to Berchtesgaden, Hitler's "Eagle's Nest" and home to true Nazis. They had entered Bavaria in early May, hoping to capture Berchtesgaden before anyone else did; but it was a town that was high in the Alps, and to get to it, they had to go up a lot of steep, winding mountain roads.

Most of these roads, including the one they were trying to drive up currently, had been blocked by fanatical SS soldiers, none eager to have Hitler's "crown jewel" plundered and destroyed by the invading Allied Forces. The Americans were currently in a race with the French to see who could get up the mountains faster.

Sam was sitting beside Webster against a guard rail on the side of the road, both of them scribbling in their respective little journals. She was sure his had much deeper, more profound thoughts written inside, while hers was a mishmash of random things that popped into her head, and the names of the deceased that she kept track of.

Gene had settled on her other side, leaning against her and using his helmet to shade his eyes from the warm sunlight as he dozed lightly. His legs were stretched out along the downward slope of the road, one arm thrown over his stomach, and the other hanging on the rail he, Sam and Web were leaning against. He was snoring quietly, a fact which amused Sam to no end. She found it so adorable that she didn't have the heart to let him know.

She was glad of the little break; they'd been rumbling along in trucks for what felt like forever. And while it was nice to be able to just sit around, relax and chat, it was nicer to sit around, relax and chat outside of a bouncing, stomach churning truck ride. The Bavarian sun was warm, and the men sprawled out around the trucks, some standing, some sitting, some dozing like Gene.

A few of the men were trying to unblock the road, using grenade launchers, a mass amount of grenades, TNT, and any explosives they could get their hands on. It made for an entertaining sight, but it wasn't doing much to put a dent in their road block.

"I'm gonna go blow shit up," Web muttered from beside Sam, and she shot him an amused look as he uncurled his legs and jogged over to grab Liebgott, the two of them throwing on their helmets and heading over to see what they could do to help with clearing the rocks off the road. Sam watched them go, knowing whatever attempts they made would probably be hilarious, but ineffective, and snapped her book shut, stuffing it into her front pocket for safe keeping.

When she got home, she was going to buy a typewriter and write down everything that was in that little book. Maybe she'd do some sort of memoir thing about her time here; most of the memories were so fresh and vivid in her mind that she doubted she'd need a journal to remember it all.

A jeep rolled by her and Gene, Colonel Sink in the front of it. She saw him flash by quickly, not seeming to notice she was sitting on the side of the road as he made his way up to the officers at the front of the long line of soldiers. Honestly, she was grateful for that; she was too damn comfortable to get up and salute.

Sam watched the officers at the front conversing with one another, and then Sink's jeep reversed, rolling past them and down the hill. This time, Sink did see her, and she lazily saluted him, hoping he wouldn't give her any shit for not making it too formal. When he quirked a smile and returned the salute, Sam breathed a sigh, and Gene stirred beside her.

"Wha's goin' on?" he muttered sleepily, and Sam smothered a grin as she reached down and tweaked his nose. He twitched it, looking back up at her from where he was leaning against her shoulder. "Unnecessary."

" _Completely_ necessary," she returned, and then swatted him lightly. "I think we'll be movin' out soon, so you might as well get up and try to pretend you weren't sleeping on the job."

"We're not even doin' nothin' right now, though."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. _Sleeping_ on the job."

"Why do I like you again?"

"'Cuz I'm adorable. Just keep reminding yourself of that, Gene, and you'll be fine."

Gene huffed and chuckled under his breath, before he managed to sluggishly pull himself into a sitting position. Sam followed suit, rising to her feet and giving him a hand up as they started back for the trucks, which were rumbling to life as men started filing back in.

It took them a few hours to find an alternate route into Berchtesgaden, but when they did, Sam felt a chill run through her bones.

The men all filed out of the trucks, eager to get a good view of what they were walking into and hoping that boots on the ground would make them better prepared than boots on the truck. Sam stuck close to Gene, a fact which he didn't complain about and was grateful for; this place gave him the willies, and if Sam had been wandering around it without him, he definitely would've been uncomfortable.

"This place is…" he heard her mumble beside him, and he nodded, knowing what she was going to say before she said it.

"Disturbin'," he finished for her, and Sam's eyes flickered to his in assent.

As creepy as Berchtesgaden was, Sam found the Eagle's Nest even worse. While the other men didn't seem too concerned about being in a home where Hitler himself had lived, Sam found this too, to be a little too much to deal with.

All in all, she was glad when everything was said and done and the medics were billeted in a different area than the officers, who remained in the Eagle's Nest to enjoy the spoils.

Night found her eager to stretch her legs, and she left her helmet and bag behind as she took a stroll through the streets of Berchtesgaden, now filled with American soldiers on every corner and every dark alley. It made her feel far safer than when they'd first arrived, but what made her feel even safer than the men around her, was the one who was walking at her side.

Eugene was quiet on their walk, and Sam thought, for a while, that it was simply because he was enjoying her company and enjoying the silence that came from being the Alps among the stars. The sky was beautiful, stars sparkling like diamonds in the vast empty space above, and Sam watched it as she walked, the faintest traces of a smile on her face.

She was unaware that Gene was watching her instead of the stars until she felt him grab her hand and give a gentle tug. Curious, she looked up in time to see his grin flash in the moonlight as he took off running, pulling her along with him. Laughter bubbled up in her chest at this sudden and unexpected display of playfulness from the usually serious medic. "Gene, what…?"

He shushed her as they stopped just near the edge of town, hidden from sight by the buildings. They were high enough now, having climbed the steep streets to reach the elevated houses where some of the officers were billeted, and Sam could see all around her. His hand was warm in hers against the chilly air of the evening, and she turned just slightly, eager to ask him what this was all about, when he suddenly silenced her with a kiss.

Startled, Sam found herself responding without really thinking about it, arms wrapping around his neck and hauling herself closer. Gene wasn't normally a warm person, but the heat of his body felt good against hers, and the arms he wrapped around her back pulled her closer and closer until there was no space left between them. She whimpered softly as he deepened the kiss, and she heard an answering growl rumble in his throat, and she was surprised that he could even make such a sound.

"Gene," she whispered when they parted to breathe, breath fanning across one another's lips in harsh pants. "What…What brought all this on?"

She could see his eyes crinkle with his smile in the dark, arms tightening even further around her. "This morning," he murmured, brushing his forehead against hers. "Didn't you hear the news today?"

"About…?"

"It's V-E Day!"

At Sam's confused look, Gene elaborated. "Victory in Europe! Sam…the war in Europe is over. It's done! We survived, _cher_ , and we're here." He pressed another quick kiss to her lips, and Sam laughed, heart soaring with excitement and happiness and a million other things she'd never felt before. "We've got our chance now, our chance to keep that promise. We're goin' home…"

Sam pressed her hands against Gene's cheeks as he lifted her from the ground, holding her against him. "We are, Gene. We're goin' home…together."

888

Turns out, they weren't _exactly_ going home.

They were moving into Austria and even if the men were annoyed at having to leave Berchtesgaden, no one was complaining all that much as they drove into the beautiful country.

Sam felt that maybe the women who ran to meet them as they passed by was more of a reason for their excitement than the actual beauty of the sights and the country, but she wasn't about to complain. Zell Am See, Austria _was_ beautiful, and it was made even better by the fact that there wasn't much for anyone to do. The medics finally had a break, no need to set up more than a basic aid station for any small injury they happened to come across or need to deal with.

Most of the men spent their time hunting, swimming, fraternizing, and just generally enjoying life. The only thing that really dampened their celebration of the end of the war in Europe was the looming threat of being sent to the Pacific. They'd been so excited about VE Day, that they'd almost forgotten that the war wasn't actually over.

Some of the men had enough points to go home, accumulated through wounds or medals and actions taken on the battlefield, but many of them did not. The officers were concerned over this and the potential for the regiment to be sent to the Pacific, and started ordering that anyone who was staying behind start training for their drop into Japan; Winters ordered rifle range practice, close order drills, troop reviews and physical training.

Needless to say, it wasn't too popular, but the company did it with minimal grumbling.

A lottery was organized for the company, and the boys rigged it so that Shifty Powers, who had so very few points and definitely not enough to go home, would win. It was a wonderful moment for the men, excited for their friend who finally got to go home, but was made bittersweet by the revelation that their unit would definitely be going to the Pacific and that they would begin training in earnest to go to war once more.

The longer they stayed in Austria, the more opportunities there were for men to die in reckless, stupid ways, most of the time by something that they had no control over. Private Janovec was killed in a car accident, and there was nothing any of the medics could have done to help him. The worst of the incidents, however, came late one night, just after a heavy rainstorm.

Sam, Gene and Ralph were roused roughly and immediately from their sleep in their billeted room when Sergeant Talbert burst in, the door slamming on the hinges. All three medics immediately jumped up, eyes bleary but ready to move; they were used to running to the rescue, and while they might have gotten more relaxed, something like that, that was so deeply ingrained, never really went away.

"S'goin' on?" Gene mumbled, dragging on his boots with a speed that belied his tired appearance.

"Grant's been shot," Talbert said immediately, face scrunched up in pain. "We need a medic, right now!"

"How bad?"

"He was…shot in the head. I don't know how bad it really is, but…he's not awake."

Gene was the first to get his boots on and grabbed his bag, immediately heading out the door after the frantic sergeant. "I got this; Sam, Spina, stay here. I'll call if I need ya! Sergeant, lead the way."

Sam and Spina exchanged glances, watching as Gene and Floyd disappeared out the door and the clattering commotion of soldiers filled the air. The rest of the men were very much _not_ asleep anymore, and Ralph hurried to pull his boots on so he could see what was going on. Sam scurried after him, boots untied and forgoing her hat as she jogged in Spina's wake; her hair bounced around her neck, unbound and unchecked for the first time in a long time.

She could see the men already marching back and forth between the halls, shouting orders and pulling on shirts and boots. "What the hell happened?" she demanded of Liebgott, who was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette.

"Grant was shot in the head by some dumb ass private who couldn't hold his fucking liquor. We're waitin' on orders to go after the guy." The look on his face told Sam that he was seriously considering going to find the man who shot Grant even if there were no orders given to do so. "All we're waitin' on is to see if they want that fucker alive or dead."

Sam felt her stomach constrict; this was an accident that could've been avoided. The men had too much time, too many guns and too much alcohol on their hands; it was making for a lethal combination, and it was all coming to a head tonight, in the form of sergeant Grant being shot in the head. Sam would put her money on the shooter being someone who wasn't used to being over here, or had seen minimal action. She doubted someone who had seen the things most of the men had seen would do something of this caliber.

She exchanged a look with Spina over her shoulder. "We'll…hold down the fort. Let us know when you find the guy, okay? We might have to patch him up after you beat the shit out of him so they can throw his drunk ass in the brig."

"Yeah," Spina agreed. "Or we could look the other way and pretend we have no idea how this fucker wound up dead." He ignored Sam's look, and shrugged. "Either way, let us know, all right?"

Spina and Sam ended up playing a game of poker while they waited for some news about the custody of the culprit, and when he was eventually brought in, both medics studiously turned a blind eye to the blood that was pouring down his face as George and Talbert joined them in the game. The men spirited the drunk private into another room, closing the door behind them. The door, however, could not muffle the sound of fists striking flesh, or the coughing and sputtering of a man in pain.

Sam sat beside Talbert, looking decidedly uncomfortable, but she wasn't about to say anything. She was as pissed off as everyone else at what had happened to Grant, and she knew that sometimes, vigilante justice was the only kind of justice there was. Talbert, beside her, was even more uncomfortable, his face pinched and angry as he shuffled the cards.

"I dunno who's takin' a bigger beatin': me or him," George remarked, lighting a cigarette. Spina reached out a hand, fingers indicating he wanted one too, and George obliged.

"Wanna play a different game?" Talbert asked, body tense as he glanced at the other three players.

"Nah, same game. Just shuffle 'em up good, huh?"

When Talbert shuffled the cards with more force than necessary, Sam glanced at him. "You alright, Tab?"

"Yeah, I'm all right," he replied tightly.

"You wanna go in there and join in?" Spina questioned.

"I should go in there and stop this…"

"Floyd," George warned. "Just play cards, all right?" 

The sound of heavy boot steps had all four players turning to see Speirs striding towards them from the hallway, pistol held tightly at his side. The look on his face was murderous, and Sam finally understood where the stories she'd heard about him came from; in that moment, she really believed they were true. Talbert shot from his seat beside her as Speirs approached, cards forgotten.

"Where is he?" Speirs demanded, eyes glittering with fury.

"How's Grant?" Talbert demanded. "Is he okay?"

Speirs cut him off as he shouted "Where is he?!"

Sam flinched as Talbert glanced to the door, behind which she knew the men of Easy and the drunken private were waiting. Speirs immediately made a beeline for it, and Sam stepped back towards George and Spina, unwilling to see what lay beyond the door when it was opened. Talbert followed Speirs in, and there was the sharp crack of bone and pained breathing.

Sam, Spina and George waited for the shot they knew was coming, but nothing happened.

Speirs stepped out a few moments later, brushing past them with a terrifying look on his face and heading for the door.

"Grant's dead?" Floyd asked their captain before he could leave.

"No," he responded, turning around. He fixed Sam with a look first, before his eyes wandered over the rest of his men. "Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it." He wheeled around and headed for the door, placing his pistol back in the holster at his hip as he disappeared.

Silence descended, broken only by the quiet shuffle of boots and the heavy breathing of the beaten man. George glanced back at the door, watching disinterestedly as the drunken man was wrangled into the arms of some of the Easy Soldiers, and they practically dragged him out to take him to the MPs.

They paused at a signal from Floyd, who glanced at Sam and Spina. "Hey. Do one of you think you can look at him? At least make sure the piece of shit won't _die_ before we get him to the MPs?"

Sam and Spina glanced at one another, and then at the man. There was a long beat of silence broken by the quiet rasping of the beaten private. "He can die for all I care," Sam responded, turning on her heel and marching off back to her room. Spina stood there a second longer, locking eyes with a resigned Talbert.

"Yeah," he decided, turning to follow. "What she said." 

8888

Between training and their sudden influx of medical supplies that needed sorting and preparation for the Pacific, Sam and Gene did find a little time to spend together.

It was the first time they'd let themselves relax since those short moments in Hagenau, just enjoying each other's company as they walked along the paths around the lake. The sun was warm, and the birds were singing, and if Sam hadn't known that she was in Austria, she could have sworn she was back home on her farm with the clean, sweet smell of forest and dirt and freedom. Both medics needed it after the craziness of the other night; Grant would be taken to England as soon as it was safe to move him, but the incident had hit everyone hard.

"So, Gene, you've been pretty quiet so far. What's on your mind?"

They walked side by side, shoulders just brushing, but didn't allow themselves anything more. They were still in the military, and there was still a chance they could get in trouble if anyone outside of Easy found out about them.

"Just thinkin'…" At Sam's look, he continued. "About goin' to the Pacific. You're goin' with us? With the men?" _With me?_ The last part remained unspoken, but Sam heard it anyway, already knowing him well enough to know what he was getting at.

"Of course, Gene. I don't have enough points to go home, anyway."

"True. You an' me is both in the same boat."

Sam didn't think it was fair that Gene didn't have enough points to go home; he'd done more than anyone she could think of, and he was a brave and selfless man. He deserved to go home. She could only hope he'd get enough points soon after they got to the Pacific, so he could send himself back to Louisiana.

"We never talked about what we's gonna do when we get back, did we, Sam?"

"Yeah we did. I agreed to go visit Louisiana, right? And we'd see where all of this between you and I went?"

Gene's walking slowed until he came to a stop. Sam turned to stare at him curiously, waiting for the words she knew were coming. Gene often took his time to choose what he had to say, so she'd learned to be patient with him, rather than urging him to hurry.

"Well, see…The thing 'bout that is…I was hopin' maybe that visit would just be…permanent? Or…maybe I could go to New Jersey? I, uh…" He ran a hand through his hair, staring hard at his boots. "In the time we done spent together since Paris, I sorta realized…" His accent was thicker when he was nervous, Sam noted.

"Realized what?" she prompted, turning to face him fully, heart fluttering like mad.

"I sorta realized that I don't wanna spend the resta my life without _you_. So I was thinkin' that…maybe you might wanna spend the resta yer life with _me_?"

He still wasn't looking at her, but Sam didn't really care. All the breath had left her body as though she'd been punched in the gut, and she stared at Gene with wide eyes, trying to process what he'd said. Her mouth moved a few times, and she felt her knees go weak, dropping down onto the rocky wall that bordered the edge of the lake; they were almost to the dock now, just shy of having reached their destination where they'd planned to sit and chat and basically spend a little time together without interruption.

Sam worked on controlling her breathing, mind spinning furiously as she felt Gene tentatively drop down beside her, not daring to touch her as he watched her face for any sign of what was going on in her head. "I…I'm sorry, _cher,_ " he murmured. "I didn't mean to blindside ya with that. I just…I wanted to tell you what I was thinkin' and that I think—no, I _know_ now—that I…that I love you." He gently took one of her hands, a hopeful smile on his face. "With all my heart."

Sam slowly lifted her gaze to Gene, breath catching in her throat at the sincerity she saw in his eyes. This was…this was _overwhelming_. The feelings she had for Gene went far deeper than just 'like'; she'd known for some time that she was probably head over heels in love with him, if that's what this could be called. No man had ever treated her the way he did, had ever cared for her or put her well-being over his. No man had ever taken the time to get to know her, the _real_ her, and found something there worth loving. But Gene had. He'd broken through every wall she'd thrown up and dragged her out of her unreachable cliff-side tower that she'd locked herself away in so long ago.

"Sam?" Gene asked quietly. "Hey, sorry. I know it's a bit much but…If you want to say no, if you'd rather have someone else, then I underst-"

His words ended in a yelp as Sam grabbed his face in her hands and dragged him to her, planting a fierce kiss on his lips that showed him exactly what she thought of his suggestion. When they broke apart, Gene looked slightly dazed, breathing uneven. "Wait," he drawled, still trying to put everything together in his head. "Does…does that mean you're on board?"

"Jesus, Gene, of _course_ I am! I was…well, sorta worried that you might change your mind by the end of all this. But we might not have much longer left in this war. And once we get home—and we _will_ get home—then I would be more than happy to go to Louisiana with you…after I go home first, of course. You couldn't keep me away if you tried. I…I love you too. So much…"

Gene grinned brightly, about to reply, but wasn't prepared for the sudden cackling laugh Sam let out as she grabbed him by the shoulders and tipped both of them over the side of the wall into the lake.

"What the fuck?!" he cried, coming up sputtering as Sam did the same, though she was still laughing madly. She splashed him in the face as a wicked smile curled over Gene's lips. "Oh, I see how this is," he challenged. "All right then! You asked for it!" He swept his arms towards her, and a giant wave crashed over her head, leaving her sputtering with laughter as she spat out the water.

"What the hell are you two idiots _doin'_?" 

Sam and Gene could just touch the bottom of the shore from where they were treading water, and they looked up to see Spina, Babe, George, Malarkey, Liebgott and Webster looking down at them curiously, as though they'd completely lost their minds. Spina was the one who'd asked the question, and from the look on his face, he knew very well what his two 'idiot friends' were doing.

"I could ask the same of _you_ ," Gene shot back, earning some raised eyebrows from the men. They weren't used to such cheek from the Cajun medic.

"We were gettin' ready to go huntin'," Babe replied, gesturing to the rifle he had in his hand. "Since Shifty left, we had to make due with Liebgott or Malarkey, and they can't shoot for shit."

"'Ey, fuck you, Babe," Joe grouched, setting his rifle down and slinging his legs over the edge of the rock wall. The others shrugged and did the same, and Sam shot Eugene a mischievous smile that, had the men seen it, would've made them think twice about sitting where they had.

"Not even in your wildest dreams, Joe," Babe shot back, cackling and dodging when Joe took a swipe at him.

"So again, what the fuck are you two doin'?" Ralph asked, leaning his arms on his knees and smirking down at his fellow medics. "Are you _fraternizin'_? You're _fraternizin'_ , aren't you?"

"No, Ralph. Gene tripped and fell into the lake-" Sam ignored Gene's indignant look. "-and I jumped in to help him, but turns out, he can swim. Who knew?"

"Growin' up on the bayou does that to a man," Gene admitted with a shrug, looking completely unrepentant in the face of Spina's disappointed and disbelieving look.

Sam was steadily inching closer to the men on the wall, the tips of her boots brushing the sandy bottom. None of them seemed any the wiser, except for Ralph, who already knew her well enough to know that there was no way he was going to get in her line of fire. He quickly moved his boots out of the way, ignoring Sam's scowl as she reached them. "Hey, Babe," she called, reaching one dripping hand from the water. "Can you give me a hand up outta here? I don't wanna swim to the dock."

"Sure, Sam," he agreed, and Spina said a prayer for his poor, stupid soul as he reached down to grab her hand.

Babe's yelp of surprise as he was pulled in was drowned out only by George's as Babe grabbed his arm in a frantic attempt to keep from going into the water. But Sam's hold was like steel, and she laughed as she was pushed backwards by the force of the wave the two men created. Babe and George came up sputtering, flailing around frantically as they tried to ascertain what the hell had just happened.

Behind her, Gene was laughing so hard that he was having a heck of a time keeping on his feet, inadvertently dunking his head under the water as he tried to stay afloat.

"God damn it, Sam!" Babe shouted, finally managing to right himself and push away a clingy George.

Behind them, Joe, Spina, Malarkey and Webster were laughing up a storm.

"Why did you have to pull _us_ in?" George whined. "Couldn't you have pulled in one of those assholes?" He jerked a thumb behind him, and when the men didn't stop laughing, he splashed them angrily.

"I was only aiming for one, really, George. You were just an added bonus," Sam shot back, swimming away towards Gene. "Spina's too wise to me to ever be stupid enough to let me get the drop on him. Malarkey is a precious angel, and Webster is too pretty."

"Did you just call me _pretty_?" Webster demanded, looking affronted.

"You are absolutely beautiful, Webster. Like a perfect little China Doll." Sam ignored his sputtering.

"What about Joe?" Malarkey asked, his smirk stretching across his face.

"Joe's hair is _way_ too nice to be messed up by accidental dunking."

Joe looked touched. "Thank you, Sam. Nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time."

"Don't get used to it, Joe."

Babe was still pissed, and had a murderous look on his face as he started swimming for Sam. "I hope you can swim fast, Branigan! 'Cuz when I catch you, I'm gonna dunk you into oblivion!"

"Shit!" Sam cried, pouring on speed and swimming behind Gene. "Gene, make yourself useful and be my human shield. Go on; fight my battle for me!"

"I thought you was a strong, independent woman?" 

"Damn it, Roe, just tackle Babe or something while I swim to the docks, all right? Sheesh."

8888

Somewhere near the end of July, Buck Compton returned to the company to see how the men were doing.

Sam was eager to see him; when the two had parted, she had feared that the person Buck had once been was gone forever. Once she got wind that he'd returned, she immediately dropped what she was doing to meet him. When she saw him step out of the door to Easy's billeted home, she was surprised to see what he looked like.

She'd been expecting the worst, she really had. But the brightness in his eyes, and the color in his cheeks spoke of a man who was on the mend. He might always carry the mental and physical scars of war and battle, but he would survive, and probably thrive while he did so. Sam didn't even pause in her stride as she jogged towards him, and Buck, who was shaking Lipton's hand, turned just in time to catch her as she plowed into him.

"Hey Sam!" he greeted with a laugh, lifting her off the ground into a hug. "Long time no see!"

"Buck, you look great!" she replied ecstatically, tension and fear of what she'd find when she saw him melting away. "Why are you back, though? You should be in the states, enjoying some peace and quiet, not over here with us shmucks."

Buck shrugged, setting her back down. "I just couldn't stay away."

"Yeah," Lipton put in. "He wanted to come and see how we were doing; like we can't take care of ourselves or something, huh, Buck?" He elbowed his former lieutenant, and for a second, Sam saw the strain in Buck's smile, before it disappeared, replaced with the same easy look he'd always worn.

"Hey, we're gonna start a game of baseball. Why don't you join us, Sam?" Buck asked, looking eager to play a game he not only enjoyed, but excelled at, with men he had missed immensely.

"Well, um, baseball isn't _really_ my sport," Sam admitted. "I'll catch up with you later, though. You go have fun."

"Suit yourself, then."

Sam watched the two men jog off in the direction of one of the makeshift baseball fields the men had set up to pass the time and keep from getting bored between drills and PT. She heard boot steps behind her, and turned to see Eugene stepping out of the billet after them. He had his OD jacket unbuttoned, and looked as though he'd rushed to throw it on in his eagerness to get to the field for the game. Sam raised a brow as he stopped beside her.

"You're going too, I take it? Why are you even bothering with the jacket, Gene? Here." She reached out and took it from him, yanking it off when he would have protested. "You can't hit a home run with this thing flapping in the wind."

"You ain't goin'?" he asked curiously, letting her take his jacket and watching as she folded it over her arm.

"I ain't goin'," Sam agreed, imitating his accent.

Gene smirked at her, reaching up to give her hair a gentle ruffle; she'd been foregoing the hat more and more often. She'd worn one since she'd become a nurse, but something about being here, feeling like maybe the end of the war was near, Sam felt like a change was needed. She no longer needed to hide; she was happy with her lot, safe and secure. Besides, she'd discovered that Gene really _liked_ her hair, even if it was a bit shorter than most women's.

"All right; I'll be back in a while to help you sort them supplies. And I'll drag Spina in with me, no matter how much he hollers about it." He turned and jogged off, and Sam watched him go fondly, before turning and heading back into the billet and to the makeshift supply room the medics had set up.

That was where Gene and Spina found her a few hours later, and both practically tackled her to the ground in their rush to get to her.

"What happened?!" she nearly screeched, alarmed by the way they greeted her. "Who's hurt?! What's going on?! Let me get my bag and... What the fuck are you two smiling about?"

Spina practically tore her away from Gene, wrapping her up in a joyous hug and lifting her off the ground. She yelped, trying to wriggle out of his hold, but he refused to let her go. "Sam! Jesus Christ, we just heard!"

"Heard _what_ , Spina?! Put me down already, damn it! Gene, _save_ me from this idiot!"

She was roughly pulled from Spina's arms, but before she could breathe a sigh of relief, Gene swept her into his own hug, pulling her tight against him. Sam's growl was muffled by his shoulder, and he grinned as he spun in a circle.

"One of you better tell me what the _fuck_ is going on right now, or so help me-"

"The war is over! The Japanese surrendered!"

Whatever retort she had for them died on her tongue as Sam froze in Gene's arms. She pushed at his shoulders until he pulled away slightly, though he seemed unwilling to fully release her. "Are you serious?" she asked quietly, and when Gene nodded, she surged forward and threw her arms around his neck, laughter bubbling up into her chest. Spina grinned broadly, throwing his arms around his two fellow medics, and the three of them laughed and spun together, their smiles bright enough to rival the sun.

The war was over.

They were going home.

88888


	17. Keep the Car Running

A/N: Oh, so I lied about the Goo Goo Dolls lyrics being over. Damn that band for being so good.

Here's another chapter! A quick update, I know, but the last chapter was so short, I needed to give you more, my lovelies. I don't even know how many chapters left. Four…Five…less? Dunno. But we'll get there when we get there. As always, thank you for the reviews! You all make me happy!

I also finished 'Little Red Dress,' my Pacific Sledge x OC story if you wanna check it out! Check out 'Trouble with the Universe' for some more Gene x Sam nerd fluff.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

8888

" _There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved." -George Sand_ _ **  
**_

 **Chapter 16: Keep the Car Running**

At the very tail end of July, the company moved to Joigny, France, and from there, various members were reassigned or sent home a few at a time. Donald Malarkey's reassignment posed a problem for Sam simply based on the fact that she didn't want to say goodbye to him. He was being sent to Paris, and when he told her the news, she damn near wept. She was happy for him, sure, but she didn't want him to leave. They'd embraced quietly, their shared misery, pain, experiences holding them together as tightly as their grip on one another's uniforms. Sam had forced him to promise to write, to promise to visit no matter what and she swore up and down that she'd do the same.

Easy Company soon found its way back to the United States on a troop ship, and the time to say goodbye to the men who were being discharged was looming closer.

When they touched down on American soil in New York, everyone was eager to get their papers and get home; they'd served their country, done their time, and they deserved their freedom. Sam said her goodbyes to each of the boys in turn; George Luz swept her into a hug that she was sure broke a rib, and made her absolutely promise to write and then visit once she got settled in. He'd given her a wink and a nudge, mentioning pointedly that he'd come visit her in _Louisiana_ and Sam had blushed and punched him in the arm.

Webster, Liebgott, Alley and Skinny had said their own goodbyes, and Sam was swept into hug after hug every time one of them went home or was reassigned. They all promised to write, promised to visit, and had smiled and wished her luck.

Christiansen, Talbert, Hashey and Garcia were next, and after hugs, playful ribbing, and exchanged addresses, all promised to keep in touch. Christiansen was particularly difficult for Sam to say goodbye too; she really liked the man. She was a little despairing over the fact that he lived all the way in California and would be hard to visit, but she swore she'd write to him the first chance she got.

Frank Perconte and Johnny Martin would have left with Babe and Spina, but they were both more eager to get home, and so they said their farewells, and Sam knew she'd see them again; she was planning to go and visit Philadelphia anyway. Most of the people she truly cared about lived there, after all.

Even O'Keefe bid her a fond farewell, shaking her hand (he was too uncomfortable for a hug), but it was Bull Randleman who was the first, besides Don, to actually make her cry. He'd been there for her in Holland, and in Bastogne, and the warm comfort of the man whom she'd learned to call a friend would be missed. She'd hugged him the tightest, and like those cold nights in the forest, when she was sure everything was spiraling out of control, he hugged her back and made the tears go away.

Welsh and Lipton were amusing to say goodbye to, mostly because Lipton wasn't sure if he should hug her or not, and Welsh started laughing as he teased her about the Sluagh coming to get her if she didn't write or visit (or at least attend his wedding, although Sam was _sure_ that would be over and done with before she could so much as think about it; Kitty had waited this long, so there was no way she'd wait any longer).

Speirs was a more complicated matter. She didn't hug him, or really say much of a goodbye. He was staying on with the unit, and Sam thought it was appropriate; war seemed to suit him. He was good at being a soldier and commander. She knew he'd do well for himself, and so a smile, a handshake, and another promise to write (if he had time, he'd said) and Sam took her leave of her captain.

Nixon and Winters were on their way to Pennsylvania together (based on the sole fact that Nixon didn't feel like going home just yet), and Nixon had informed Sam that his sister was already home—had been for some time—and that Lizzie was anxious to hear from her former fellow nurse. Sam had avoided that for a while, but now that she was home, she felt that she ought to go and see her friend and assure her that she was relatively all right. Since the Nixon's lived in New Jersey as well, it would only be a matter of driving far enough to reach them.

Dick Winters had shaken her hand, and then surprised her with an awkward hug that reminded her of a very cold night in a foxhole in Bastogne.

"You take care of yourself, Sam," he told her quietly as they stood outside of the hotel most of the men had been staying at while they all received their discharge papers and tickets home. Nixon was just beside him, sunglasses on and looking about as bored as one could look.

"I will, sir," she replied with a smile as she stepped away and patted his arm.

"It's just 'Dick' now, Sam. I'm not your commanding officer anymore." His smile was genuine and kind, and Sam could see a visible relaxation in his face now that he didn't carry the weight of so many lives on his shoulders. "And you take care of the Doc, too," he whispered, chuckling when she turned a bright red.

Nixon had hugged her goodbye as well (telling her that if she didn't want to be hunted down, she had better go and visit him and his sister), and then Sam had stepped back to let Gene say his own goodbyes to his former captains before the two medics returned to the hotel.

They were still staying there, along with Babe and Spina. It wasn't because they didn't want to go home, but the four of them had decided that they should spend a few more days together as a whole and see the sights of New York that none of them had been able to see the first time they'd been there. Mostly, it was the three medics who were reluctant to part; they'd seen a lot, and done a lot together, and even if they didn't voice it, they weren't eager to walk away and let it all disappear. Babe came along just for the hell of it, and because the idea of seeing the three of them have fun and get drunk sounded fucking hilarious, if he was honest.

Not that Sam and Gene had any intention of getting drunk, but they did want to see the sights. Both had grown up in small towns, and New York was as overwhelming for them as it was exciting.

Gene went off on his own one night, disappearing for a few hours, and came back acting all squirrely and jumpy. Sam, Spina and Babe hassled him to tell them where he'd gotten to, but he remained stubbornly silent. They dropped it eventually, but still poked at him every now and again before giving up completely. The next day, they were scheduled to go and see the city, and they needed to get some sleep.

After a good breakfast adorned in their dress uniforms (Sam was so glad she'd put in for a uniform with pants), the three medics plus one soldier set out to explore. Sam was oddly reminded of her time in Paris with Eugene, save for the two tag-alongs that neither were keen on entertaining, especially since Babe and Spina kept complaining about the choice of sights they were trying to see.

"Jesus Christ, when you two said you wanted to go out and have some fun, we thought you meant _real_ fun."

Sam was busy looking over a map, Gene just at her shoulder pointing to a nearby museum he thought might be interesting to see. At Babe's annoyed remark, both she and Gene lifted to fix him with simultaneous glares. He jumped a little, grabbing Spina's arm.

"Holy fuck, Spina. It's like they're already a crotchety old married couple."

"Who taught you _that_ word? Crotchety," Gene asked, sounding cross, and Sam rolled her eyes as she folded the map up and put it in her pocket.

"You know, you two don't _have_ to come with us. If you want to go have fun, then go have fun. God, you're like the two children we had and weren't prepared for."

Gene choked beside her, and Sam thumped him on the back, glaring at the two boys from Philadelphia. "Spina, why don't you take Babe and go hit a bar or something. If I have to listen to one more whining remark, I'm gonna shove him in the mud." She looked around, noting that mud might be hard to find. "Or the gutter. Whichever I find first."

"Oh my God, Sam," Spina choked out, trying to hold back his laughter. "Sure, sure. We'll catch up with you guys later. Try not to get into too much trouble, you two."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get out of here, Ralph."

After Ralph and Babe went on their way to have "real fun," Sam and Gene were left to their own devices, eager to explore and get on with their lives. Like that day in Paris so long ago, Sam hooked her hand in Gene's elbow, and the two strolled down the crowded streets, passing men and women in uniform, many of whom were out celebrating their freedom, much like the two former medics.

"This is nice," Sam admitted as they made their way to the museum. "Just you and me. Thank goodness Ralph is such a good babysitter; I thought we'd never get away from the kids." She rolled her eyes playfully, and Eugene chuckled low, pulling her closer to avoid a large group of passing men.

"If we ever have any _real_ kids of our own, we'll hafta keep him in mind, I think," he remarked, and felt Sam stiffen beside him. He glanced over at her, as if just realizing what he'd said. Her face was turned slightly away from him, and he tried to backtrack. "I didn't mean-"

"So you want kids?"

Her question startled him, and Eugene paused, tugging her against his side and ignoring her squeak as he wound an arm around her waist instead. "Sam, I want whatever you want. A house, a family, I'd like to have all o' that. But if you weren't feelin' too particular towards it, then we don't hafta worry about it, all right?"

"Eugene…"

Gene looked down into Sam's eyes, watching steadily as she turned her face towards him. "Sam?"

"Maybe I…maybe I want that, sure. I never thought I'd have any of this to begin with." She made a vague sweeping motion with her arm. "A chance at a new life, love, someone who cares about me and sees me for me and doesn't want to change that. We've come a long way; so whatever is ahead, I'll see it through with you, thick or thin. And if we just so happen to have a couple of little rascals tagging along who inherit my charming wit and your hair-" She shrugged. "-then I can't complain much."

"Marry me."

Sam gave a start, and although she was pressed to his side as they walked, she nearly tripped over her own feet and fell flat on her face. "W-what?" she stammered, eyes wide as she looked up at an equally flustered Gene, who was blushing brightly and suddenly found his boots to be very interesting.

"I, uh…I been thinkin' about that, ya know, since we left Austria. I didn't know when I'd get a chance to ask ya and…well, fuck. This ain't how I wanted to propose. I had somethin' more romantic planned but…" He shrugged sheepishly, before digging into his pocket and pulling out a little bag. "It, um, it ain't fancy or nothin', but I thought…"

Sam reached up and tentatively took the pouch from him, eyes darting up to Gene in question. When he nodded, she pulled it open, shaking the contents out into her hand. A pair of rings jingled out, one a plain band and the other adorned with the tiniest of diamonds.

"I can't afford a real nice ring," Gene admitted, gently taking her hand in his. He lifted the little ring, carefully sliding it onto her finger, before he stalled. "Oh, uh…wait…You, uh, you haven't said yes or no yet." When he started to pull the ring back off, Sam immediately stopped him.

"Are you serious?" she laughed. "Gene, of _course_ my answer is yes! Don't take my ring away; I just got it! _This_ is why you were acting so nervous when you disappeared the other night!"

Eugene laughed, throwing his arms around Sam and lifting her off her feet and into an embrace, spinning her in circles as curious onlookers gave them a wide berth. He pulled her down for a kiss, still holding her close to him as she tightened her hold around his neck. Many women were smiling in understanding, and even many of the men seemed to know what was going on, if some of the whistles and clapping was any indication.

The two broke apart sheepishly, faces red as the people around them laughed with good spirits, a few of them clapping Gene on the back and offering congratulations, even though they had no idea who any of them were. Once the well-wishers had dispersed, Sam peeked up at Eugene timidly, before holding out her hand, where she still clutched the other ring.

Eugene allowed her to slip it on his finger, before leaning down to kiss her again, hands holding hers tightly.

"'Bout fuckin' time."

Sam and Gene whirled to see Spina and Babe grinning at them, standing side by side with their arms crossed. "What the…? I thought you two _left_!" Sam cried, glaring angrily at the two. "Were you spying on us?"

Spina walked forward and leaned his arm on Sam's shoulder. She watched him with annoyance as he sighed, then took a deep breath. "Sam, Sam, Sam." He took another deep breath, and let it out with a chuckle. "You two are a fuckin' mess without me. Of _course_ we were spying on you. Jesus, you know us. Besides, when Gene said he was gonna propose, we knew we couldn't miss that shit. It was bound to be entertainin'."

"Wow," Gene mumbled, his annoyed look leveling out into a flat stare. "That is a confidence booster. I feel much better about muhself now, Spina. Thank you."

"Anytime, doc."

Babe joined their group, tugging Sam away from Gene and ignoring her protests as he cuddled her up in a very undignified hug, ruffling her hair and nearly knocking her hat off her head. "You two are so damn cute, it makes my stomach hurt. So when's the weddin'?"

Sam choked, and pushed him roughly away. "One thing at a time, Babe. One thing at a time."

888888

The four former Easy Company members set out on a train bound for their homes.

Because Babe and Ralph lived in Philadelphia, they would have to change trains just outside of New Jersey to get home. Sam only had to take the train a few more hours into the state before she too would be forced to get off; Gene had a long, long train ride alone.

When they reached Babe and Spina's stop, Sam had to fight to hold back tears as she hugged Ralph. He'd become one of her best friends, a man she could trust and depend on. He was such a genuinely good person, and he cared for her, for the men around him, and for everyone under his charge.

"I'm going to miss you, Ralph," she mumbled into his shoulder as he hugged her tightly. She could have sworn she heard him sniff, and when he pulled away, his eyes were brighter than before.

"Same here, Sam. You're good people, you and Gene. I wish you guys all the happiness in the world."

Sam gently clasped his hand and squeezed it. "Ralph, you're going to find yourself one hell of a girl and make lots of cute little babies. And when you do, I expect to not only be invited to the wedding, but to be their official unofficial aunt."

Ralph quickly let go of her hands to reach up and wipe t one of his eyes, squaring his shoulder and sniffing hard to try to maintain his tough guy image. "Sam, if I ever have kids—God _knows_ I got enough practice taking care of you two idiots—then you can count on being their aunt, their Godmother, whatever you want. I'll take them to visit you all the time, but only if you and Gene do the same for me."

"It's a deal," Sam agreed, her smile watery as they embraced fiercely once more, unwilling to say goodbye for good.

When Ralph stepped back to say his goodbyes to Gene, Babe took his place and wrapped Sam up in a hug of his own. "Hey, don't be a bum and forget to write or visit. If you see Spina, then you sure as hell better come visit _me_. And Bill, Joe, Johnny and Frank. You know they'll hunt ya down if they don't hear from ya."

"I know, Babe, I know. I promise, no matter what, that I will see you and the boys again, one way or another." She grew quiet for a moment, glancing down at her boots, before she looked back up at Babe. "You…you be good, okay? Don't get into any trouble. We won't be there to drag your ass out of it, ya know?"

Babe smirked at her. "I'll keep my nose clean, Sam. I promise."

Sam and Gene watched their friends wave them off as their train pulled away from the station. It was dark when they'd reached the first stop in New Jersey, and nearly midnight by the time they reached the second one: Sam's stop.

The two former medics spent their last few hours together quietly curled up on their seats, heads low and touching, hands intertwined. No one left on the train paid them too much mind, and both were glad for the peace and quiet and privacy. They didn't exchange any words; silence was enough for them. It was more than enough just to sit and soak up one another's presence.

When the train called for Sam's stop in New Jersey, Gene felt her tense beside him, her fingers squeezing his. The train started slowing, brakes squealing as those who were about to disembark started grabbing their belongings. "Gene," he heard Sam whisper urgently beside him. "I don't…I don't know what…"

He silenced her with a kiss, feeling her hand shake in his. "It'll be all right, _cher_ ," he murmured. They had spent almost every moment together since she'd joined Easy Company, working side by side, save for the times when they went on separate missions or she'd been at the aid station. He didn't know when the next time he saw her would be, but he knew she had to go home, and so did he. "It won't be long 'til we see one another again, I promise. You gonna come to Louisiana before long, ain'tcha?"

"Nothing could keep me away, Gene." She pressed another kiss to his lips, eyes shining with tears, and he reached up and brushed them away as they fell.

"Remember, we'll be together again soon. You go an' take care o' yo' momma. Then you come down in a few weeks. Not that long at all."

He silently helped her gather her belongings as the train finally rolled to a stop, whistle blowing to alert its passengers who were getting off and getting on. Gene guided her gently towards the door with a hand on the middle of her back, and she turned and fixed him with one final look before she stepped off the train and onto the platform. Other soldiers and civilians milled around her, and as the train started rolling and the doors closed on her shimmering eyes, Gene lowered his head, chin touching his chest.

He just had to remind himself that he'd see her soon. That was how he'd get through this.

8888

Sam stepped out of the cab onto the quiet, country road. A mile down it, her little farm where her mother slept on peacefully, waited.

The cab driver waived off her money, taking one look at her uniform and informing her that this ride was on the house. She'd smiled thinly, and settled into the back.

Now, here she was, bag over her shoulder, standing in the dark of the country as she gazed down that last mile stretch to home. Something inside of her hesitated; she didn't know if she could make that long walk. The last time she'd been here, she'd been a different person.

She took a long breath, filling her lungs with the cool night air of the New Jersey countryside, and closed her eyes.

She could still hear the sounds of explosions, the screams of men, the desperate cry of 'Medic!' when she laid down at night. Whenever she had a spare moment of peace, the laughter of the men who had been left behind forever would fill her head. The jokes, the kidding around, the easy comradery, the friendships: all of that was gone now. And she was left here, with nothing but a dark road and a hesitance to take those final steps that would lead her home.

Sam wondered if her mother would even recognize her; she looked and felt changed. She was a new person, a new woman, someone who's experiences had forever shaped her into what she was now. She knew she'd never forget the things she'd seen or the things she'd done.

She was a stronger person now. But she was a stranger.

Quietly, Sam took those first steps down that dark road, headed back to a home she hadn't seen in nearly four years.

When she stepped into the house, the door creaked the same way it had when she left; she knew her ma wouldn't have bothered to fix it. That had been her dad's job, to fix the things that squeaked or broke or clanked around the house.

There were no lamps or lights lit, something she expected, and it was dark, save for the moonlight shining in through the windows. On the table, a Bible sat unopened, a rosary sitting just atop it. Sam reached out and gently ran her fingers over the cover, before setting her bag on the floor. It dropped with a 'thud,' and she heard movement from the other room as the lights suddenly clicked on.

"Who's there?"

The sound of her mother's voice nearly broke her, and Sam had to grip the chair to keep from dropping to her knees. "Ma?" she called weakly, and there was a sharp, watery gasp as her mother came around the corner, stopping just short of the table and staring with wide eyes across it at her only child.

Martha Branigan's hair was far more gray than Sam remembered, and the lines on her face were deeper, more pronounced, but it was still her mother, still the fiery Irish woman who had raised her into the person she was today. Sam smiled hesitantly, and opened her arms as she took a careful step around the table. The thud of her boots broke the silence. "Ma. I'm home."

Her mother rushed into her arms, and Sam caught her easily, the weight of the older woman nearly knocking her to the ground. She kept her feet, wrapping her arms tightly around her mother as she sobbed into Sam's shoulder, clutching her uniform for dear life.

"Oh, my Sam! My beautiful baby girl! You're home!" she whispered softly, stroking Sam's hair. Her knees wobbled weakly, overcome with emotion, and she collapsed to the ground, Sam following and cradling her from hitting the floor. "You're home! You're _home_!"

Sam felt tears sting her eyes, and for once, she easily let them fall, holding onto her mother as she cried. "Yeah, ma," she whispered against Martha Branigan's hair, gently running her hand over her mother's head in a comforting gesture—a gesture she'd used to console wounded men on the battlefield—and swallowing thickly. "Yeah, I'm home."

8888

Sam slept in the next day and for the first time in her life, her mother didn't bother her about it.

She woke the next morning, sitting up in bed and staring hard at the wardrobe that held the clothes she'd worn before she went away to Europe. She couldn't quite believe she was home; everything felt so surreal. The bed, the room, the familiar house: none of it seemed like it was right, like it was really there. She kept waiting for someone to burst into the room, calling for a medic, asking her to come and attend some emergency, or telling her that they had PT or drills.

Sam let out a long, heavy breath as she threw back the covers and slowly dropped her bare feet to the cold, hardwood floors. Stepping towards the wardrobe, she pulled it open, running her hand along the shirts and pants and the two dresses that hung there. One was a dress she'd owned before the war and had worn to her father's funeral; the other was the olive green dress she'd worn in Paris with Eugene. When her fingers passed over the familiar fabric, she smiled tightly, before pulling out a pair of high top overalls and a white shirt.

When she stepped out of her room, the sweet, wholly-familiar scent of her mother's cooking wafted through the air, drawing Sam into the kitchen. Martha Branigan was busy preparing breakfast and it was traditional Irish fare. Bacon, sausages, beans, eggs, mushrooms and potatoes cooked together and served with a side of brown bread and butter, with a jar of jam already sitting on the table. Sam wasn't surprised to see a glass of orange juice waiting for her, and she eagerly reached for it; she hadn't tasted good orange juice since she'd left the states.

Sitting down at the table, her mother immediately slid a plate in front of her, and Sam dug into the food with the earnestness of someone who hadn't had a really decent meal in years. Her mother settled in the chair across from her, sipping a cup of tea and watching her daughter with sparkling eyes. "Didn't they feed you in the army, child?"

Sam paused in her feverish eating, grinning brightly at Martha and taking a sip of her juice; she studiously ignored her mother's question. There'd be time for talk about what she'd done over there later. "Ma, how has everything been?" she asked, a little unsure as to how to fall back into the easy role of 'good Irish child.' "I mean…since I left, and dad died…"

Martha's brows pinched together, and she sighed lightly. "I had to sell most of the cows, Sam. They were gettin' to be too much for me to handle on my own."

Sam stopped chewing, staring across the table at her mother with wide eyes. " _All_ of them?"

"No, we still have two. But the rest, yes. I got a good price for them; I paid off the farm, so I won't be worryin' about payin' on the land. And I got enough for you to live comfortable for the rest of your life. Unless…" She smiled secretively, and nodded her head towards Sam's hand, where the ring Eugene had given her was still snugly fit. "Unless there's something you want to tell me, Sam?"

Sam blushed, immediately jerking her hand from the table and fiddling with her ring. "Oh, right…I, uh…I didn't tell you, did I?"

"You sent me one letter this year, sweet girl. And you mentioned a 'Eugene Roe' quite a few times. From the way you talked 'bout him, I imagine he might be the one who put that pretty ring on your little finger, hm?"

Grinning, Sam reached across the table and took her mother's hand, squeezing it gently. "Ma, I never, ever thought I'd meet anyone who would care about me for me. Gene accepts every part of me, every aspect of who I am. And I…I love him for it." Her blush returned, eyes darting to the table. "And he loves me. He…asked me to marry him…when we got back to the states."

Sam was alarmed to see tears gathering in her mother's eyes as Martha Branigan swept Sam's hands up into her own. "Oh, sweet girl! I am so happy for you; I never thought…Never mind that. I never expected you to find a husband when you went away to war, but I suppose this sort of thing happens all the time. And if you love each other, then who am I to stand in the way?" She gave Sam's fingers a squeeze. "Where is he from, this Eugene Roe?"

"He's…um…he's from Louisiana."

The smile faltered slightly on her mother's face, but she quickly recovered. "And I take it…you're going to go and live there with him? Why not here, on the farm?"

Sam saw the lapse in her mother's smile. "Ma, I am so sorry…I…I just…I can't take Gene away from Louisiana. He has family there; he's lived there forever. I promised him I'd come to see him in a few weeks, once we both had time to settle in and see our families." Now Sam leaned over, face serious. "Ma, come with me. If I go live in Louisiana, you could come too."

"I don't know, Sam," her mother hedged. "I could…sell the farm. That would give both of us enough money for a new start. And the last two cows." There was a hesitance in her eyes, but when she looked at her daughter's face, at the hopefulness, at the happiness, and at the change that this Eugene Roe had wrought in her child, she knew her mind had made up for her. A wide smile broke out over her face, and she laughed. "Oh, what the heck! I've lived in Louisiana before, and I happened to really love it. Why don't we go back together?"

"Ma, I love you more than you'll ever know."

"And don't you forget that Samantha Branigan! Especially when I start askin' you for grandbabies!"

8888

The breeze blew lazily through the fields, and Sam swung back and forth on the hammock that sat strung between some of the trees near the forest, a few yards from her house.

One leg hung off the hammock and her arms were crossed behind her head. The wind tickled her bare feet, teasing her short hair and making it sway along her forehead. Her eyes were closed, a long stem of hay held tightly between her teeth and lips.

This was home.

This was what she'd missed.

This quiet, easy peace, where no one was screaming, nothing was exploding, and no one was shooting at you. In the night, she still had flashes of her time in Europe, still woke sweating and panting and trembling to the sound of the voices crying out in pain and panic. When she woke that way in the dark, she often retreated to the fields, listening to the sway of the grass and the hay and the wind as it blew through the trees. She would lie in the hammock with nothing but the moon for her company, and she would think of the men who were lost, the friends she never got to say goodbye to. Sometimes she would cry, and other times, she would remember the peaceful days they had together, their laughter and their smiles, and she knew she had to follow Gene's advice.

She had to live.

It was his quiet words, from that day so long ago in France when she'd slipped from a tent and curled up in the shadows to escape the ghosts who haunted her, that kept her going.

She'd been home for no more than a week and a half, and in two more, she would board a train to go and visit Eugene and tell him the news and the decision her mother had made. The idea of seeing him again made her giddy with joy, and it made the dark nights without him there to whisper comfort a lot less difficult to bear.

The sound of tires rolling over the dirt road leading to her house roused Sam from her drowsy state, and she lifted her head just slightly to see a very nice looking black car headed towards her farm. Confused, Sam rolled herself from the hammock, hands in the pockets of her overalls as she strolled towards the house and the car which had stopped just outside the door.

They weren't expecting company, and she knew no one was coming to visit her so she had no real idea who it could have been. Not to mention, the car was way too fancy to belong to anyone she or her mother knew. She was still feeling faintly puzzled until the car door opened and a dark haired woman stepped out, looking hassled and mussed as her driver ran around to the back and pulled out a suitcase. Another man stepped out of the other side, dark glasses over his eyes and a tired look on his scruffy face. Sam picked up her pace just as the woman paid her driver, and he got in the car and started off, leaving a large cloud of choking red dust in his wake as he did so and a grumbling man and cursing brunette whose familiarity sent a smile curling over Sam's lips.

"Mouth, young lady."

The woman turned just in time to see Sam hop the fence bordering her home. "Sam!" she cried, rushing towards her. Sam braced herself as Elizabeth Nixon flew into her arms, nearly knocking them both into the dirt in her haste for a hug. "Oh my God, I've missed that so much, it's not even funny!" Lizzie cried, burying her face in Sam's shoulder.

Over her friend's shoulder, Sam grinned widely at Lewis Nixon, who hadn't removed his sunglasses, but who seemed rather amused at the display.

"Aw, come on, Lizzie. I haven't been gone _that_ long."

"Sam," Lizzie said quietly, pulling away and holding Sam's hands in hers. "I was so worried you'd been killed. Every time I didn't get a letter, didn't hear a word…God, if it hadn't been for Lewis, I'd have never even known what happened to you!" Sam had the good sense to look contrite, head hanging in apology. "But…but that's neither here nor now! What matters is that you're home, and safe, and I came to visit you! You _should_ be happy that I'm here."

"I am Lizzie; I really am. I missed you a lot."

Lizzie released Sam's hands and tossed her hair haughtily. "Lewis told me you'd gone home, but he also mentioned something very, very interesting." She lifted one brow and leaned in. "So who is this 'Eugene Roe' I've heard so much about?"

"Traitor," Sam called, and Lew wandered over, sweeping her into his own hug.

"Oh, come on, Sam. How could I not let her know about it? She practically tackled me when I got home and demanded I tell her how you were doing and who Gene was; she got one letter from you and it was like you'd baited the bull, I swear. She's terrifying. She really is."

Shrugging, Sam grinned widely and lifted her left hand, waggling her fingers. Lizzie's screech could have woken the dead and Lew threw his hands up over his ears. "Holy shit!" the brunette exclaimed, grabbing Sam's hand and inspecting the ring. "Is this a joke? There's no way!"

Lew whistled, gazing at the ring with a smirk. "I knew it," he informed her, ignoring the scowl she shot him. "He probably proposed top you in the cheesiest way possible, didn't he?"

"No, more like he blurted it out accidentally and then stumbled over his words for about five minutes," Sam replied dryly.

"Figures. You two are so fucking cute, it's making me sick."

The front door of the house opened, and before Sam could respond, her mother stepped out, drying her hands on a dish towel. "Sam? Who are your friends?" she asked, eyeing Lewis and Lizzie dubiously.

"Oh, ma, this is Elizabeth and Lewis Nixon; Lew was my captain Lizzie was in the corps with me."

Lewis stepped forward, holding out a hand for Martha to take. When she did, he gallantly swept it into his own and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "I'm Lewis Nixon, miss Branigan. You can call me Lew. It's a pleasure to meet the mother of one of my favorite medics. You raised a fine girl, ma'am." Martha blushed prettily, giggling like a schoolgirl. Behind them, Lizzie and Sam rolled their eyes simultaneously.

"Oh, well, it's wonderful to meet you, Lew. And, uh, thank you! That's such a nice thing to say. Won't you come in? I've just put on some tea, and I've got cookies in the over."

"Don't mind if I do, ma'am."

8888

Sam's mother found their guests very entertaining.

She cooked a large dinner for all four of them, insisting that Lewis and Lizzie stay in the extra bedrooms they had. She'd fussed over Lew, especially when he'd taken a flash from his pocket and tried to drink out of it. Martha had stolen the flask, proclaiming that there would be no drinking under her roof, and Sam spent the rest of the night trying to convince Lewis that he didn't need to stay at a hotel in town, and he could survive a few days without it.

When the day came for her trip to Louisiana, Lizzie and Lewis insisted on going with her. Lizzie even insisted on packing Sam's trunk for her and when she saw the sorry state of Sam's clothes, she dragged her into town to buy two more dresses (something that Sam protested vehemently; she didn't need or _want_ any more dresses. Owning two was _more_ than enough).

Lizzie had forced Sam into a dress after whining about not getting to see her in Paris the _one time_ she decided to play 'normal lady' with Eugene. Sam had reluctantly agreed, only on the condition that the dress be the one she'd actually worn in Paris. Lizzie fussed over her and so did her ma, cooing over how 'elegant and pretty' she looked in the dress, while Sam rolled her eyes and tried very hard not to rip it off and replace it with her overalls. Lewis had seemed impressed, stating that he had no idea she was a woman under all those baggy clothes, and Sam had punched him in the arm, which earned her an immediate bout of 'manly whining.'

Once packed and ready, the three set out on the first train bound for Morgan City, Louisiana.

It was a long ride, and all Sam had to go on was the slip of paper that held Eugene's address. She knew Morgan City wasn't too big of a town, so she didn't despair much of finding him. When they mentioned to their cab driver who they were looking for, he laughed and nodded, telling them that he knew exactly where Gene lived.

They were driven to an old house, one that looked like it had been around a lot longer than Sam, Lizzie or Lew had. It gave off a distinctly 'old southern' feel, the white paint peeling in places, but otherwise standing steady. It looked like the kind of house that was well lived in, where good food and comfort was always ready and waiting.

Her stomach fluttering with nerves, Sam stepped out of the car as the driver unloaded the bag she had brought.

"Quaint," the brunette quipped beside her as she nodded to the driver and told him to wait for her; Lizzie was going back to a hotel in the heart of Morgan City since she didn't want to put anyone out. "Very quaint. You sure he lives here?"

"I'm pretty sure," Sam nodded, though she didn't believe her own words; there was no way to be sure that he was actually here.

The door to the house opened, and Sam was surprised when a woman with dark hair emerged, rushing towards them. She was an older woman, and from the appearance of her face and how she and Eugene shared the same hair and nose, Sam guessed it was his mother. She was prepared to introduce herself, and even held her hand out for the woman to shake, but all of that was bypassed immediately, and she found herself swept up in a bone crunching hug.

"Oh!" the woman cried. "You must be Sam! You're just as my Gene described you, _beb!_ I am so happy yo' here!"

Sam grimaced, but returned the hug, smiling as convincingly as she could past the butterflies in her stomach. This was Eugene's _mother_ ; she had to make a good impression here. Although from the way the woman was acting, it seemed that she already had.

"Where my manners at? I'm Maud. But you call me _Mère."_

Lizzie and Lew were laughing under their breath behind her, and Sam silently cursed them to hell and back again as two more women exited the house. One of them looked a lot like Maud, but the other had blonde hair and blue eyes, and a very distrustful expression on her face as she eyed Sam like she was some sort of unwanted vermin.

Straightening and stepping back, Sam smiled widely. "Thank you so much for the warm welcome. Yes, I'm Samantha Branigan. I came to…see Eugene?"

"Course you 'ave!" Maud exclaimed, and motioned for the dark haired girl behind her to come forward. "This my daughter, Winnie. Winnie, you be a good girl, yeah? Go take Sam's bags inside." Maud turned to Lizzie and Lewis with a quizzical look. "Sorry, I ain't quite sure who you two is. What yo' names?" She fixed them both with a kind, motherly look.

Lizzie elbowed Sam, and held her hand out for Maud to shake. "I'm Elizabeth Nixon. I was in the nursing corps with Sam over in England. My brother is Lewis Nixon, one of Eugene and Sam's captains in Easy Company."

She elbowed Lew, and he nodded, sticking his hand out to shake Maud's hand gently in his. "It's an absolute pleasure to meet you ma'am and we apologize for tagging along. We're staying in town at a hotel; we just wanted to see Sam here safely."

Lizzie turned to Sam, eyes twinkling mischievously. "You better bring that boy of yours into town to meet me. I'll be languishing at the hotel while this big idiot visits the bars, I'm sure. Although I _might_ go and see the sights." When she waggled her brow, Sam knew the sights included a lot of men in uniform fighting for the chance to hold her hand and show her around.

"Just have fun," Lew told Sam with a shrug, leaning forward and sweeping her into a bone-crushing hug that made her squeak.

"All right, you two. Thank you! I'll see you soon?" She could feel Maud's stare on her, and the blonde girl's as well, even as Winnie, a girl who looked no more than eighteen, walked over to grab her bag. Lizzie winked again as she slid back into the car. Lewis saluted, said a gentlemanly goodbye to Maud, and piled in after her before the car took off down the road and back into town.

"I'm Winnie," Eugene's sister introduced unnecessarily when they were gone, and Sam grinned nervously, smoothing a hand over her dress as the girl continued. "I am so happy yo' here! Gene won't stop talkin' about you. Maybe now he'll shut up for a few hours."

Sam laughed, but Maud looked affronted. "You get yo' smart self inside, girl. Take those bags." She reached out and gently took Sam by the elbow, leading her towards the house as Winnie cackled and did as she was told. The blonde girl, who Sam had yet to meet, followed her inside. "That girl is Anna. She one o' our neighbors." Maud's smiled widened as she stepped up onto the porch, still tugging Sam along with her. "Gene is in town; he got himself an interview with a construction contractor who works mostly in Baton Rouge. He was so happy this mornin' sho nuff. An' he been talkin' 'bout you since he got home. I am so happy to meet you and welcome you to our family, _beb_. It's me and _père_ , Gene and Winnie right now; Gene's brother Charlie is workin' in California. You gon' meet him later, I'm sure."

Only half hearing what Maud was saying, Sam watched Anna's blonde hair disappear through the door and mentally groaned as her good mood officially deflated. She felt nerves shoot through her stomach; great. Not only did she have to meet Gene's family (or at least the ones who lived here, for now), but she also had to contend with some girl who was not only prettier than her, but probably had a thing for Eugene too. Or maybe she'd get lucky, and Anna actually liked _Charlie_. Or maybe she was Winnie's best friend?

 _Pffff. Yeah right. She's way too pretty and that stare was way too rude to be anything other than threatening._

Wonderful.

She _really_ hoped she was wrong.

888

Sam spent the next few hours getting to know Gene's mother.

Maud was a wonderful woman; she was so open and welcoming, and she had shining eyes and a hearty laugh that made Sam feel right at home. Maud reminded her a lot of her own mother, Martha, especially with the way she kept trying to feed her and refusing her help in the kitchen. Sam finally set her jaw and stubbornly insisted that she be allowed to help, to which Maud replied with a grin and a chuckle, shaking her head, handing her a knife and sitting her at the table to cut and peel vegetables for the fricassee she was making.

Winnie and Anna were conspicuously absent, and for that, Sam was a little grateful. She didn't want to deal with Anna's staring, or Winnie's teasing about her and Eugene. She'd rather get to know Gene's mother first, and then move on to the rest of the family.

The sound of the door opening didn't even cause her to stop her work, assuming it was the girls going outside to do whatever it was younger girls did nowadays (God, she was starting to think like an old lady). The scuffling of boots, however, made her glance up, and she was surprised to see an older man staring at her curiously in the doorway. His sharp eyes and face reminded her of Gene, and she knew this was probably his father. Sam smiled nervously, setting down the knife and fiddling with her skirt.

"Well, you must be the Sam we been hearin' 'bout since our Gene came home," the man remarked, his eyes twinkling much like his wife's.

Sam immediately stood, back ramrod straight as she'd learned in the military and heels clicking together subconsciously. "Yes sir, I am. Samantha Branigan. I'm so very pleased to meet you." She held her hand out, and much like Maud, the man laughed and ignored it, sweeping her into a hug that was as warm and welcoming as his wife's, but far more gentle.

"Shoot, girl. You ain't gotta be so formal! You're part of the family! I'm Ed, but you call me _père_ now, no questions asked."

Sam returned the hug, feeling her nerves melting away. Gene's family wasn't as scary as she imagined, and even though she'd been prepared for anything, she was really glad they seemed to like her before they even met her.

"I guess my Maud done put you to work already?" Gene's father asked, raising an eyebrow at his grinning wife.

"She volunteered," Maud said with a shrug, turning back to her food on the stove.

"I hear you volunteer for a lot o' thangs, Sam," Ed remarked, grabbing another knife and sitting across from her at the table. "Gene says you was a nurse. And then a medic, right there with him. That some mighty brave thing you do, child."

Sam ducked her head, blushing as she sat and continued her chore of chopping vegetables. "I just did my part, same as anyone else. Nothing special." Maud whisked over to take the chopped vegetables from the table, dumping them in the pot she was cooking their food in and humming to herself quietly.

Now faced with nothing to do, Sam looked around helplessly, before the sound of more footsteps made her look up to see Anna standing at the doorway. The girl was staring at her with those unnerving blue eyes, but Sam was not someone who cowed easily, and she stared right back. "Mrs. Roe," Anne called, her smile wide and kind. "Winnie went to go feed the chickens for ya. Would you mind if I gave Miss Sam a tour of the place?"

"Well, that sound good, sho. Just be back for supper; Gene should be home soon 'nough," Maud remarked, nodding her head. Sam quickly stood when Anna beckoned, wondering if maybe she'd measured the girl all wrong when she'd first seen her. Maybe she really was just a friend of Winnie, and wasn't anyone to be worried about.

The two women stepped out into the yard and Sam smoothed her dress self-consciously, sneaking glances at the pretty girl beside her. Anna was, if Sam was honest, the epitome of a perfect southern belle. Her curly blonde hair tumbled down her shoulders, and her yellow dress and white jumper were the perfect shade to compliment her complexion. Next to her, Sam felt like a frumpy-soldier girl again, her olive drab dress doing very little to bring out any hidden, prettier part of herself. Right about now, she fervently wished she'd fought Lizzie on wearing the dress; she'd give her left foot for her overalls right now.

"That's the chicken coop," Anna pointed out, and Sam could make out Winnie inside the fence surrounding the coop, scattering corn for the chickens. She waved when they walked by, and Sam returned the wave with a smile. She noted that Anna's sweet and welcoming look from before was gone, replaced by a rather sour expression that Sam couldn't quite figure out.

"That's the barn. They don't got no animals, but they keep a boat in there that Mr. Roe uses for fishin'." They continued their meandering path down the road, almost out of sight of the coop and the house before turning around slowly. "It ain't much." She shrugged, and a silence descended on them that Sam was grateful for, until it was broken by Anna's quiet voice. "Did you _really_ do all the things Gene said you did?"

"What…things?" Sam asked, shoulders stiffening slightly.

"You know, bein' a soldier and all. He said you helped him patch guys up, that you was really brave on the battlefield." She stopped walking, turning to face Sam. "You _must_ be brave, if you came all the way _here_ for him."

"What do you mean, exactly?" Now Sam's guard was up; that didn't sound like an innocent question.

"Well…" Anna looked her up and down. "You must be brave if you think you could compete with _any'a_ the girls 'round here. You ain't Gene's type. I known him a whole lot longer than you have; he an' I went together before he left for the paratroopers. Now that he's back, I don't intend to let him go again, ya know."

Sam cocked her head to the side. "Not to sound rude or anything—even though it seems like we've already passed that point thanks to you—but you can take that idea and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. Respectfully, of course."

Sam narrowed her eyes and held up her hand, showing off the ring on her finger; she heard Anna suck in a breath and ignored the surprise on her face. If she wanted to play games, then fine _; play ball_. "I don't intend to fight over a man; I'm not that kind of girl. And I _especially_ won't fight over Gene because you lost that battle before it started. I've spent the last four years away from home, doing my part for our country, and so has Gene. Neither of us want to come home to bullshit like this. And I will tell you right now-"

Sam leaned closer, and Anna's eyes widened as she stepped back. "-I have lost very few fights in my life. If you _want_ to fight me for him, then fine. I'll punch you out here and now and be done with it. But if you back off and leave us be, then we won't ever speak of this again, and you can go on your happy little way and find yourself a good man who _isn't_ Eugene. Or whatever the hell you want to do with your life; I don't care. But for all intents and purposes…" She turned and started back towards the house, marching stiffly with her shoulders straight. "Fuck off."

Anna didn't follow her and Sam was very, very glad of that. She was a little too annoyed right now to be entirely civil with the girl, so when she noted that Anna had gone in the opposite direction, she breathed a sigh of relief before sinking down to sit gingerly on the Roe's front porch. Winnie had joined her a few minutes later, empty chicken feed basket in hand, and sat beside her.

"Where's Anna?" the younger woman had asked, looking around for her blonde friend.

"She went home," Sam supplied succinctly, letting her chin drop into her hand.

Winnie was quiet, before she leaned against Sam's shoulder, startling the red-head into sitting up. "Hey, don' worry 'bout Anna. She been hangin' 'round the past few days 'cuz Gene said you'd be comin' to visit. She an' my brother went on _one date_ , and she hung the moon in Gene; kept sayin' she was gonna marry him when he came home. It was a big surprise for her to know Gene proposed to someone else." She giggled softly. "I heard what you said to her."

At Sam's shocked look, Winnie shook her head. "Don't you worry about it. Ya'll weren't far enough away from _me_ , but you were far enough from the house. My parents don' suspect a thing. I'll make sho Anna knows that kind of attitude ain't welcome 'round here, an' if she starts anythin' else, I'll make sho she knows _she_ ain't welcome 'round here either."

Sam looked touched, and turned to face the girl who would, if all things went as planned, be her new sister in law soon enough. "Thanks, Winnie. I really appreciate it. I can fight my own battles, but having backup is never a bad thing."

Winnie bumped Sam's shoulder with her own, a cheeky smile on her face. "Sho' 'nuff, Sam."

8888

Eugene returned to his home a few hours later than he'd anticipated.

He'd gotten the job—he'd been so nervous about the interview—but before he'd been able to leave, his new boss had insisted on buying him lunch after finding out he was a paratrooper and had fought in Europe. Eugene was too polite to decline, so he'd eaten a very light lunch and had a beer with the man, before begging off and heading for home.

He was tired, a little cranky from having to sit in a bar with men he wasn't too interested in talking to, and anxious to know if Sam had made it to his house yet. He'd said a couple of weeks, and more than two weeks into that, he was wondering what day she'd come. She didn't phone, didn't write, but he knew very well that'd she'd never break her promise or leave him hanging.

As he approached his house, he was surprised to see a familiar red-head sitting on the porch with his sister and quickened his pace. When he got closer, he saw Sam's head shoot up in surprise, her eyes locking on him, and he sucked in a breath as she shot to her feet.

She was wearing the dress she'd worn during their time together in Paris, the one she'd worn when he first kissed her; the one she'd worn when he first realized he felt something _more_ for her than friendship.

Sam kicked off the porch, taking off for him, and Eugene smiled as he met her halfway, both of their arms wrapping around one another as she surged into him. He spun her once, before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips that conveyed all the emotion he'd felt since their time apart; it had only been two weeks, but it felt like a hell of a lot longer. When he pulled away, Sam's cheeks were bright red, her eyes shimmering as she gazed up at him.

"Hey, Gene."

"Hey, Sam."

He could see his sister rolling her eyes behind them, and chuckled softly, reaching up and running his thumb over Sam's cheeks. "I'm glad you made it, _cher_."

"Of _course_ I did," she responded with a snort, raising one eyebrow. "Welcome home, Gene."

"Get a room!"

Gene glared over Sam's head at his sister, who was cackling and rolling around on the steps with her own laughter. "Damn it, Winnie! Get outta here!" He snorted when his sister outwardly ignored him, even going so far as to flip him off while she laughed. "I'm puttin' snakes in yo' bed when you ain't lookin', I swear to God!"

Sam was giggling behind her hand at the sibling rivalry as Winnie jumped up and said "Yeah right, Gene! I dare ya!" Gene took off after a still cackling Winnie, who had enough sense to leap off the porch to avoid her brother, who was shouting curses as he ran.

She loved this family already.

8888

Lizzie and Lewis had met up with them, and Lizzie had cooed and fawned over Eugene, making the poor man highly uncomfortable. Once satisfied that he wouldn't break Sam's heart (assured by her brother as well) both Nixons reluctantly agreed to head back to New Jersey, but promised to visit again (without Lewis this time).

Sam really did love the Roe family.

They were all so welcoming and lively, and the time she spent with them was wonderful. Maud quickly learned to welcome her help in the kitchen; Sam had explained that she was used to helping her own mother, and when she'd refused to budge, insisting that she be able to do _something_ in exchange for their hospitality, the matriarch had relented. The two women got along really well and Maud was determined to teach Sam how to cook 'good Cajun food.' In return, Sam showed her some recipes of her own that she'd gotten from her Irish mother, and they spent much of their time together prattling about what foods would be good with what side-dishes. Sam helped her with the chores and followed her around, and Maud was glad of the help and seemed to adore her.

Winnie was only eighteen, but she and Sam got along well; she already liked Sam from what she'd heard of her, and had begged her to tell her stories of the sights and scenery of Europe. Sam had obliged, making sure to leave out any details that might cause distress. In return for the stories, Winnie taught Sam how to knit and crochet, something she'd never bothered learning from her mother, but helped the two girls bond even more once Sam finally picked it up.

Ed Roe was quiet, and mostly, he would ask Sam a few questions about her time in the military, but never pushed. She went into town with him when he went to buy things, and often helped him around the yard fixing whatever he needed help with while Gene was at work. Ed had tried to take Sam out on his boat and _tried_ to teach her how to fish (Gene had come along as well), but she'd mostly clung to the side of it like a frightened cat, unable to do much more than stare dizzily into the water.

Gene found it hilarious.

"What's wrong, _cher_?" he asked as they pulled back to the dock and his father jumped out easily, tying the boat up so it wouldn't float away. "Ya ain't got sea legs no more? You was on a boat only a few months ago, ya know."

"Yeah," Sam intoned dryly. "Except that boat was huge and felt like land. This one is tiny, and feels like a very small piece of metal between me and the water. No thank you." When Gene stepped out of the boat, it lurched, and Sam groaned slightly under her breath. "Can you just help me out of here already?"

Chuckling, Gene reached down and easily hefted her up, holding her under the arms. She grabbed onto him immediately, but noticed that he wasn't pulling her onto the dock. The smirk on his face was not very comforting, and she narrowed her eyes as her toes brushed the bottom of the boat. "Geeeeene," she warned. "If you drop me, I swear to God…"

"I ain't gonna drop you," he drawled, before he moved his hands a little, making her shriek and cling to his arms as he laughed. "Or will I?" He moved his hands again, sliding them up her arms and letting her lean precariously backwards over the water.

"Gene, you put me on that dock now, or I will end you!"

Ed was waiting just on the shore, watching the interaction with an amused smirk on his face; considering he was Gene's father, and probably shared his sense of humor, Sam despaired of receiving any help from him. He probably found this as funny as Gene did.

Sam was now clinging for dear life onto Gene's hands. There was no way she was going into that water. While Gene and Winnie seemed okay with it and had tried to get her to swim with them once or twice, she was definitely not interested in being in water that had snakes and gators and who the fuck knew what else.

"Gene, don't!" she shouted, when he almost released her hands. In the next moment, though, he hauled her up and out of the boat, wrapping his arms around her. Sam snarled, pushing out of his hold and smacking his shoulder. "Asshole," she snapped, and Gene just laughed.

"Aw, come on. Ya gotta get used to the water at some point, Sam. It ain't that bad."

"Really?" Sam asked, turning back round to him. She walked slowly towards him, eyes wide and hips swinging, and suddenly, Gene wasn't laughing anymore. He gulped, feeling heat shoot up his spine as she reached out and ran her fingers along the front of his shirt. "You really think it ain't that bad?" Sam asked lowly, and Gene took a few steps back as she guided him, hands settling on his waist.

If he'd been less distracted, he might have seen his father shaking his head on the shore, looking highly entertained. But Sam was rarely so affectionate in public, and he always snapped up whatever intimacy she was willing to give him.

"I do," he managed shakily, eyes burning as he contemplated finding a nice, quiet spot for the two of them to share.

"Then fucking enjoy it, you ass!"

Gene had only a split second to question that statement before Sam shot an arm out and pushed him off the edge of the dock. He flailed as he fell, landing with a splash in the waist deep water and coming up sputtering and swearing. He glared up at Sam, who stood with her arms crossed above him on the pier. "Whhhhyyy?" he whined, spitting out some water and slowly making his way to shore.

"Payback," she replied with a smirk, reaching the shore at the same time Gene did. When a dark looked crossed his face, Sam took a step back. "No," she immediately supplied.

"You don't even know what I was thinkin'," he protested, but the smirk that wound its way onto his lips told her that she'd guessed right.

"Yes I do! Eugene Roe don't you _dare_!"

Before she could scramble away from him, he had scooped her up into his arms, taking two big steps backwards and letting himself drop into the water. Sam shrieked and struggled to escape, but gave up in despair as the water soaked through her overalls and shirt. "God damn it, Gene! I hate you."

"No you don't," he replied, nuzzling her cheek with a grin and ignoring her disgusted growl at the mud and water that squished between them, "If ya did, ya never would've agreed to marry me."

"If I'd known you were _this_ much trouble, I never would've said 'yes,'" she grouched, prying at the arms locked around her waist. Gene didn't release her, but managed to push himself to his feet, carrying her back to the shore.

"Ya'll are walkin' home," Ed Roe supplied dryly, though his eyes were still glittering with thinly disguised amusement. "Ain't a one o' you gon' get in my truck lookin' like that."

"Sho, _pére_ ," Gene replied, not seeming too bothered by the banishment from the truck. "Ain't too far to walk anyway. An' we can dry off before we get home."

"I sho hope ya'll do; yo mama is gon' skin you when she sees what you did to your clothes. She won't be scrubbin' them fo ya."

Gene's unrepentant grin made his father throw his hands into the air, clambering into his truck as he wondered how the hell he got such a cheeky man for his son. Sam and Gene watched him go, driving off down the dirt road towards their home.

Sam finally managed to pry Gene's arm from around her, growling under her breath. "If your mother decides to kill you for this, then don't expect me to save you. In fact, I might help her. I've got mud in places I should _never_ have mud."

Gene didn't seem bothered by that, taking Sam's hand (and ignoring the way she tried to tug away) and starting down the road. "I'll help ya clean off," he suggested, ignoring the way Sam scoffed as he raised an eyebrow. He seemed so happy, swinging their hands slightly and humming under his breath, and Sam was wondering what the hell was up.

"Gene? Jesus, you're actin' like a kid who ate one too many lollipops. What is wrong with you?" Not that she didn't like this side of him; he was so serious, so quiet while they were in Europe, and while 'intense Gene' was wonderful and sweet, 'bubbly and excitable Gene' was _just_ as adorable, if not more so.

"I'm jus'…happy," he said, as if it explained everything. "I'm happy yo' here, that you get to meet my family, that…that you an' I are gonna be together." He once more hummed under his breath, and Sam watched him with a quirked brow, a smile slowly stretching across her lips.

"Ugh, I love you so much, you big idiot," she grouched, and Gene barked a laugh, grabbing her around the waist and swinging her around as he walked down the road, ignoring her annoyed shouting as she demanded he put her down.

"Gene?"

Both Sam and Eugene froze at the soft voice, turning to see one of the paths that led to the road occupied by Anna, the blonde girl Sam had threatened when she'd first arrived. Sam immediately felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment, somewhat ashamed of the way she'd treated the girl; she probably could've been a little nicer, at least. And from the look on Anna's face when she glanced at Sam, she hadn't forgotten either.

Gene set Sam down, smiling amiably at the girl. "Hey Anna. How ya doin'? Ain't seen you in a while."

"Oh, well," the girl sniffed, her eyes darting away from Sam to land on Gene; Sam noticed her look was more that of a lovesick puppy that a venomous snake when she looked at _him_. "I been 'round. I been missin' ya since that night you an' I spent together."

"What night?" Sam asked curiously, looking between them. Gene looked a little confused, but then seemed to brighten, as though understanding what she was referring to. Before he could response, however, the blonde was already filling Sam in.

"When he got home, he took me to dinner, said he _missed_ me," she supplied, batting her eyelashes.

"Now wait-" Gene began, eyes darting nervously to Sam.

"But then you showed up an'…" Anna shrugged, looking unbothered, a sickly sweet smile on her face. "I guess he didn't wanna tell ya. Probably the same way you didn't tell him 'bout that man that dropped ya off at his house. My, my, if you coulda seen the way he held her an' said goodbye. I don't blame her, o'course. He _was_ very handsome." She shrugged as Sam stiffened, and now it was Sam's turn to shoot him a nervous look.

"But that was-"

"It ain't _my_ business," Anna continued. She seemed to know exactly what she was saying, if the slow smirk winding onto her lips was any indication. "But ya know, Gene, when she decides to leave you for him, you know where to find me." She flipped her blonde hair, turning and continuing down the path towards the docks, leaving behind the two former medics to stare quietly at one another.

Sam sighed, pivoting on her heel and continuing down the road. "Come on, Gene!" she called, smiling brightly. "Let's head home. If we don't hurry, your mom will send out a search party."

"Wait," Gene called, jogging to catch up with her. "Sam, ya know that what she said-"

"Oh, Gene. Don't even start. Do you really think I believe a word she said?"

"But…"

"Wait…that wasn't _true_ , was it?" Sam asked, stopping mid step to face him. Gene fidgeted, and then shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, it kinda is…"

"Gene what the heck?" Sam muttered, sighing softly. "You actually took her out to dinner?"

"No," he backpedaled quickly. "I took her an' _Winnie_ out to dinner. I actually took _just_ my sister, but she tagged along and I didn't feel right makin' her stay home; it woulda been rude. I know she an' I went on a date _once_ , but that was a long time ago, and I ain't interested in her. I was barely interested when I first asked her out."

"Right," Sam agreed, a smile winding onto her lips. "I figured she was a liar; girls like that always are. If I see her again, I'm gonna punch her. Seriously."

"I bet you would."

"Ohohoho, I _would_."

"An' what about that 'ruggedly handsome' man she saw you huggin'?"

"You added the 'ruggedly,' Gene."

He laughed, winding his arm around her waist. "Guess she ain't as good of a spy as she thought; if she'd paid attention, she mighta known that was cap'n Nixon, huh?"

"Guess not, _cher_ ," Sam replied, and Gene blinked in surprise.

"Hey now, that's _my_ word," he argued, though the grin he shot her made her heart nearly burst out of her chest.

"Your mom has been teaching me a lot," Sam admitted, before clearing her throat and saying haltingly: " _Tu est tous dans ma vie_."

She didn't think it was possible, but Gene's smile widened even more, and he let out a laugh as he slid an arm under her knees and one behind her back, lifting her into the air and cradling her to his chest. He took off at a trot down the road, Sam laughing as she wound her arms around his neck. "Put me down, you chucklehead!" she cried, but he didn't slow his pace. "I'm too heavy for you to carry!"

"Psh, you don' weigh nothin' at all, _cher_. 'Sides, sooner we get to town, sooner we can get outta these wet clothes."

"Town? But what about your house?"

"Too crowded."

Sam just shook her head, giggling quietly under her breath. "You're incorrigible."

"That's why ya love me."


	18. With All My Heart

A/N: Haha, I lied again. There is only one more chapter. I actually have snippets I will be adding to the end; mostly just snips of married life and different things they are dealing with. I also plan to start a couple of new stories; a Pacific one and possibly a Pacific/Band of Brothers/Generation Kill crossover that's been swirling around in my head for months now. I also have another Roe x OC story idea, and while it will be hard to leave Sam behind, I think that at some point, this story will finally be laid to rest. I already have a couple of chapters ready to add as snippets to the end. I hope you enjoy the last official chapter; stay tuned for more coming soon! (Once my testing is done and things slow down for me work-wise during Christmas because planning instruction for my little ones and going to school at the same time is nuts but I have a 3 week vacation so yaaas!)

I also finished 'Little Red Dress,' my Pacific Sledge x OC story if you wanna check it out! Check out 'Trouble with the Universe' for some more Gene x Sam nerd fluff.

This is done purely for fun; I mean absolutely no offense by any of it! I hope no one is offended. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these men.

8888

" _I am yours. I_ _am yours as the stars belong_ _to the sky and_ _I am yours as the_ _rivers belong to_ _the sea._ _I am yours as the tears belong_ _to your eyes and_ _I am yours as_ _your lungs belong to_ _the pattern in which you_ _breathe."_ _-_ _Christopher Poindexter_

 **Chapter 18: With All My Heart**

The next few months went by like a flash for Sam and Gene.

Sam got to meet his brother, who drove down from California at the promise of meeting his brother's fiancé, and plans for the wedding went into motion. Gene got to meet Martha Branigan when they went to visit New Jersey, who cooed over him and made him feel increasingly uncomfortable, especially when she laughed at the way he blushed every time she called him on staring at Sam when his fiancé wasn't looking. Sam was very amused at the fact that her mother kept trying to feed Gene because he 'was nothin' but skin and bones.' She _absolutely_ considered it payback for all the times in the last month that _his_ mother had tried to feed _her_ , claiming something similar in her defense.

When Gene found out that Sam's mother was selling the farm to move to Louisiana, however, he tried to talk them out of it, tried to reason with their decision.

Gene and Sam had managed to fit together in the hammock near her house, watching the sun set over the open fields as he tried to change her mind.

"Ain't no reason for you to uproot everythin' you love, _cher_. This is yo' farm, yo' daddy's farm and yo' momma's. You can't give that all up for me."

"Gene," Sam had explained. "You already got a job that's gonna send you to Baton Rouge, and your whole _family_ lives in Louisiana. Here, it's just me and my ma. My dad is gone, and my ma can't run the farm on her own. Heck, even with the two of us, it was a struggle. We don't even have any cows anymore. It's better if we move to Louisiana. Everything you love is there."

"But everything _you_ love is _here_ ," Gene protested, pulling her close against him and taking her hand. He looked down at her in the waning light of the day, and the smile that curled over her face nearly took his breath away.

"Everything _I_ love is in Louisiana, Gene. I will _never_ ask you to leave your home. Besides, I've moved a few times in my life, and my ma really likes Louisiana, so she's all on board. She's already planning on how to decorate our children's rooms and keeps asking me when we're gonna give her 'grandbabies.'"

Gene sputtered and the hammock rocked, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground. "Gene, god damn it!" Sam shouted, clinging to the fabric beneath them like a frightened cat. "Ugh, haven't you ever lain in a hammock before? You can't do shit like that."

"Sorry, _cher_ ," Gene admitted sheepishly. Her talk of 'grandbabies' and 'children's rooms' had thrown him for a bit of a loop, even if it wasn't the first time they'd discussed it. He hadn't anticipated her being so blasé about the idea of them having kids. But this was Sam; she rolled with the punches and he knew that she'd be okay with whatever came along. "You jus' startled me." He pulled her close again as the hammock stopped it's swinging, and sighed. "If you're okay with leavin' this place, then so am I. I just want you to be happy."

"I _am_ happy. As long as I'm with you, I'm happy, Gene. And don't you ever doubt that."

After they'd established that the farm was _definitely_ being sold, Gene started looking for a home in Baton Rouge, and a few weeks in, Sam's mother got an offer on her farm. It was easily twice what they'd asked, and once it was sold, the two Branigan women moved into Gene's home with his family. It was cramped, but cozy, and Sam and her mother were happy to share a room. Martha and Maud got along famously, much to everyone's chagrin, and soon became the bustling mother hens of the household.

Sam and Gene spent more and more time in Baton Rouge looking for a house as their respective families planned their wedding. Both were quite happy to leave all the preparations to their mothers, who were more excited about the marriage than either of the two former medics. Really, Sam already felt like with all the time she spent with Gene, they were already married.

They found a small home just outside of Baton Rouge with four bedrooms and spacious yard. With the money from the farm, they were able to purchase the house, and Sam's mother moved in for the time being to get it prepared for them before the wedding. Despite already feeling like a married couple, they weren't officially married, so it was still frowned upon for them to live together under one roof without any supervision. Sam thought that was a pretty stupid concept, since she'd shared foxholes with Gene that had way less space than a bed, but to appease their parents, they did as they were told.

They knew she wouldn't be there long; Ed and Maud had invited her to come live with them, and while Winnie hadn't been excited at the prospect of another adult to lecture her or make her do chores, Sam was glad that her mother wouldn't be alone. She'd wanted her to stay with her and Eugene, but Martha had adamantly refused, saying it was better for the newlyweds to spend time together and enjoy each other's company. "Maybe I'll move in when you give me grandkids," had been Martha's reply when Sam had asked her to stay, and it had sent her into such a sputtering fit that she'd not mentioned it again.

Sam started applying for jobs at local clinics and hospitals, and soon landed one as the head nurse at a small, hometown clinic. The doctor there was impressed with her history, and offered to mentor and support her as she took advantage of the G.I. Bill to go to college and learn to be a real doctor. It would be grueling, he told her, but Sam had only shrugged and admitted that she'd been through worse. It would take time, but eventually she'd earn her degree and her medical license. Gene was excited for her, and the two were happy to have found good jobs not too far from one another.

As the wedding plans rolled forward, invitations to the men of Easy Company were sent out, most of them going to Philadelphia (which Sam found amusing, for some reason). A multitude of RSVP's returned, confirming the guests.

Of the men who had been with them in Europe, George Luz, Frank Perconte, Ralph Spina, Babe Heffron, Joe Toye, Bill Guarnere, Donald Malarkey, Buck Compton, Pat Christiansen, Lewis Nixon, Dick Winters, Bull Randleman, Harry Welsh, David Webster and Joe Liebgott all confirmed they were coming. The other men invited, men lie Hashey, Garcia, Speirs, Lipton, Martin, Alley, Skinny, and a few others were unable to attend, but sent well wishes in their stead.

Sam had even sent two invitations to Lew Helman and Sidney Seda, and nearly burst into tears when she got replies, telling her that they would definitely be there; she'd been so caught up in the whirlwind of activity since coming home, that she'd never sent their letters. She'd feared maybe it was too late to do so, and something had happened to them. But their RSVP's were a sight for sore eyes, and she eagerly awaited their arrival.

Sam was ecstatic to see the men again, and begged Gene and her mother to let them stay at their house. It was still sparsely decorated, and there would be enough room for most of them. She knew Nixon and Winters and Welsh would be staying at a hotel in town, but the rest they could accommodate. The men had slept in worse, after all, so she knew they probably wouldn't complain about staying at her home and saving themselves some money. Sam's mother would stay with Maud and Ed to give them some room. Sam thought it as funny that she wasn't trusted to be alone with Gene, but her mother didn't think _twice_ about leaving her alone with the men from her former company.

They showed up in ones or twos, and Gene easily put four to a room, setting up cots they'd borrowed from the local church, and beds on the floor from blankets they'd borrowed from neighbors and Gene's and Sam's parents. Each of the men brought some sort of gift (which the couple had expressly told them not to do in their invitations), and stacked them up in a little pile in the living room. Both Sam and Gene were greeted with hugs, handshakes, congratulations, and slaps on the back.

Sam hugged Ralph the longest, practically tackling him when he got out of his cab and headed towards the front porch. The former medic from Philly had caught her easily, spinning her around as he laughed and Babe, Bill and Joe Toye looked on with grins of their own.

Once Ralph released her, Sam eagerly turned to the rest of the Philly crew, and threw her arms around Bill's neck. He wasn't quite expecting it, and he stumbled just slightly. Sam's hug was fierce, but gentle, and she stepped back to look down at his legs. "Bill?" she asked softly in question, and he grinned and pulled up a pant leg, showing her his new prosthetic.

"Eh, you know they couldn't keep ol' Bill down, doll face. Little thing like that won't slow me up any." He grinned roguishly, and Sam laughed as he winked, before turning to Joe, who swept her into a hug of his own.

"I'm so happy to see the two of you; I'm glad you could make it."

She heard Babe snort beside her, and glanced away from Joe to see him rolling his eyes. "'Thanks for coming Babe, I missed you the _most_!'" he mocked in a voice that she assumed was _supposed_ to be hers. "I get _no_ appreciation."

"Oh my God, Babe, just wait your turn."

The day of the wedding was fast approaching, and Sam was forced to go into town to stay at a hotel with Lizzie and her mother so the men could take over the house (and probably heckle Eugene into the ground). Before she left, however, Gene asked her if she would be okay with Ralph being his best man, and Sam had agreed, knowing she needed to ask one of the other guys something very, very important.

She cornered Don in the kitchen, asking him if he would join her outside on the porch. He agreed, and the two settled on the rocking swing that hung near the door (one of the things Sam had been most excited about when buying the house; she loved these types of things).

"What's on your mind, Sam?" Don asked quietly. He smiled faintly. "You aren't getting cold feet are you? You're not going to rope me into helping you make a quick getaway?"

"No," Sam replied, waving her hand and grinning. "Nothing like that. I, uh, I have a favor to ask." She fiddled nervously with the edge of the cushion on the bench. "Next to Ralph and Gene, you, Muck and Penkala were my best friends over there. You still _are_ , Don. I think about them…all the time."

"Me too," he admitted softly, eyes darting to his shoes.

"They can't be here with us, Don. But…well…we have our memories of them, and that's something. And you and I are still here, and we should live our lives to the fullest. It's what they would have wanted."

"Sam?" Don asked, looking confused.

"I want you to walk me down the aisle. Please. I know that's a tall order, but you're one of my best friends, and you mean the world to me. You and the others looked out for me over there, took care of me. I think that if it weren't for Muck, Eugene and I…Well, I can never repay him, or you, or any of you for taking care of me."

"Sam, you don't have to explain yourself. You did the same for us; it's what friends do. It's what we _all_ did. And I'd be honored to walk you down the aisle. Nothing would make me happier." He smiled gently and reached out to take her hand in his, squeezing as tears silently fell down her cheeks. "Don't cry. Not today, not tomorrow, not the next day. You and Gene are going to be happy together; you can't be happy if you cry."

"I can't promise I won't, but I'll try. For you. Thank you, Don. Thank you so much."

8888

Sam, Lizzie, Winnie, and Maud stayed in town in a hotel room, and Sam wasn't allowed to leave, a fact which utterly annoyed her.

Winnie and Lizzie (who got along wonderfully) had just returned from whatever outing they'd gone on, and Maud and Martha were currently napping in the beds in the second half of the suite. Sam was sitting in one of the lavish chairs, fingers flipping through the little journal she'd kept through her time in Europe, eyes roving over names and haphazard thoughts and phrases she'd written down.

When the door opened, she looked up to see Lizzie and Winnie enter, twin smiles on their faces. "What?" Sam demanded quietly, her anger at being confined to the room until her wedding the next day coloring her words.

"We met some people who wanted to see you," Lizzie whispered conspiratorially. She took Sam's journal from her hands, setting it on the table. "We think you should go see them."

"But my ma said-"

"Oh for God's sake, Sam," Winnie hissed. "Jus' go. Ya ain't gonna get another chance. They're waitin' for ya outside the hotel." She shoved the redhead towards the door, laughing quietly when Sam flipped the two of them off before slipping outside.

She headed down the stairs (thanking God that she'd been able to convince Lizzie that she was never wearing a dress again until she got married) and zipped through the lobby and out the doors into the night and the brightly lit streets of Baton Rouge. The hustle and bustle of the city was a welcome change from the quiet of her prison cell of a room, and Sam glanced around, looking for her 'special guests.' She was honestly anticipating seeing Eugene, or even one of the boys, but the two men who greeted her were definitely not from Easy Company.

"Sarge!"

Sam was pulled into a fierce hug as Lewis Helman swooped her up in his arms, squeezing her to him. Sam squawked, not having expected the attack, and lightly swatted at his arm. When he released her, she had only a second to breathe a sigh of relief before Sidney Seda swept her into his arms in another bone crunching hug.

"Jesus, you two! Let me breathe!"

Sidney released her with a laugh, and the two men stood grinning on either side of her, adorned in their dress uniforms and looking none the worse for wear. Sidney's face looked a little more pinched than it had the last time Sam had seen him, and Lew's eyes were just a bit duller, but they were alive and they were here, and for that, she was grateful.

"So, you're actually getting married, eh, Red?" Sidney remarked, throwing his arm over Sam's shoulder. She felt Lew sneak his arm around her waist, and shot him a flat look, to which he responded with a cheeky smile.

"Yes, I am. Unlike you two bums, I found someone who could actually _stand_ me."

"Wow, that was so mean. And we came all this way to see you walk down the aisle. I'm hurt, sarge," Lew quipped. "I'm really hurt."

Sam couldn't help the laugh that escaped as she threw caution to the wind and wound her arms around the two men's waists, startling them at the affectionate gesture. They shared a look over her head, wondering just what she'd been through and done to make her so open about affection and touching. When they'd first met her, she'd barely been able to shake their hands without being suspicious about it.

"You two look good," Sam told them. "I hope you've been okay. I heard about the 326th getting captured in Belgium. You…got out of that all right? I was really worried about you."

"It would take more than a few Krauts to do us in," Sid replied, sighing heavily. "But yeah, that was some intense shit. We…weren't really sure what was going to happen for a while there. Took us a long ass time to get out of it. Lew here got shot in the arm tryna keep a Kraut from hitting one of the guys who was laid up in a bed. I busted my hand up pretty good, so we spent a while in the hospital before we got back to our unit. And then the whole God damned war ended and…well, we went home. Lew got married, even!"

Sam gasped and Lew smirked, nodding in agreement. "Beautiful girl; her name is Margret, and she's the love of my life!" he exclaimed dramatically, and Sam laughed and elbowed him in the gut. "What? She _is_! I always told her I'd come home and make her my wife, but she didn't believe me. When I did get home, she couldn't _resist_ the uniform, and well…the rest is history."

"What about you, Sid?" Sam asked, glancing at her other companion eagerly. "You find a girl yet?"

"I'm playin' the field," Sidney replied, sniffing haughtily. "Can't settle down too quick. I thought maybe I found a gal who I could stand to be with for the rest of my life, but she was already taken. So here I am, all single and shit. I'll find me a lady sooner or later; my ma has been grouching about giving her grandchildren before she dies."

"Anyway," Lew interjected quickly, shooting a look full of meaning at Sidney that Sam missed entirely. "We're just here to tell you that we can't _wait_ for tomorrow, and we were tasked by your two _lovely_ friends to escort you to your surprise while they keep your mother and your fiancé's ma occupied."

They had been wandering down one of the streets, and Sam realized she was being led to a particular bar and restaurant, one that she'd visited once before with Gene; it served a lot of traditional Cajun food, and while he complained that it wasn't as good as his mother's, Sam personally couldn't tell the difference, and had fallen in love with their beignets (Gene _still_ insisted his mother's was better).

"Who am I meeting?" Sam asked curiously, though she already had an idea.

"Surprise," Lew repeated, and they stopped just a few doors down from the restaurant. "We're glad we got to see ya before you get swept into the craziness of tomorrow, sarge. We can't wait to see you walk down the aisle." Lew swept her into another hug, and Sam returned it forcefully. He stepped back and saluted sharply, before turning to stroll off and wait for Sidney to say his own goodbye. Sam watched him fondly, before she turned to Sidney, who was waiting patiently for his turn.

His arms came around her, and he held her gently, something that surprised Sam; she was used to exuberant hugs from the two men, so this was a nice change of pace.

"Take care, Red. If we don't get to see you tomorrow in the rush of all the people well…" He looked unsure for a moment, before he sighed. "I always knew you'd make it through the war. You were too damn stubborn not to. And the last time I saw you and Eugene in Paris…" He shrugged sheepishly. "I figured whatever shot I might have thought I could've taken was gone."

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter now, Sam. You're with the man you're 'sposed to be with, so don't worry about it." He took her hands in his, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. "You're gonna have a happy life." With that, he dropped her hands, shoving his own in his pockets, and whistled a tuneless song as he ambled off to join Lew. Sam watched them go, feeling a few things quietly clicking into place. Something about watching him leave made her heart ache for him; Gene had told her about his talk with the man in Paris, and all the times Sid had looked at her with an odd look on his face. Well…it made sense.

Maybe in another life, she decided. But now, she was with the man she loved, and she was never giving that up. Sam shook her head, smiling to herself, before she turned and headed towards the restaurant.

She was not surprised to see Eugene leaning against a lamppost outside, holding a cigarette between his fingers and fiddling nervously with it. He looked rather handsome, Sam had to admit, in his white button up and brown pants. His sleeves were rolled up, and he had on a pair of black suspenders instead of a belt.

Gene didn't see Sam as she sidled up towards him, and he jumped when she slid her arm around his waist and blew in his ear. "Christ, Sam," he grouched, though the smile on his face gave away his amusement. He dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out. "Glad ya could slip away from the wardens. Lizzie and Winnie told me they wouldn't letcha outta their sight." His arms wound around her waist, pulling her against him. "I'm _very_ happy you escaped."

"This is bad luck, you know," Sam replied as Gene pressed his forehead against hers. "Seeing the bride before the wedding."

"I've survived worse," Gene said with a shrug, lips pressing against her cheek. "An' you an' I have had some pretty good luck so far. What could it hurt? Besides, I wanna take my girl out on one last date afore we get married. Is that so bad?"

Sam felt a smile curling over her face as Gene pressed his lips gently against hers. "No," she admitted. "That's definitely not so bad."

"Hey, you two! Get in here already!"

Both former medics jerked their heads up to see George Luz and Ralph Spina grinning at them from the door of the bar; Spina strolled over, casually wriggling between them and earning a scowl from Eugene as he threw his arms over both of their shoulders. "Come on you two idiots, let's get inside. Everyone is eager to see you and then get drunk off their asses."

"Is that a good idea?" Sam asked, allowing herself to be steered inside. "We all have to be up early tomorrow."

"It's the _best_ idea!" Lewis Nixon crowed as he appeared out of nowhere, two beers in hand. He handed one to Eugene and the other to Sam. "Literally, the _best_ idea. Now drink up; we've basically commandeered the whole damn bar for your little party."

"What party?"

Eugene shove Ralph away, ignoring the Philadelphian's loud protests, and slid in next to Sam, his arm winding around her waist and pulling her to his side. Sometimes he forgot how annoying some of these men could be; they'd had a nice reprieve, but having them all together again was a little overwhelming. He thanked God that they'd all be out of his house by tomorrow night; he didn't think he could take much more of them.

"They thought it'd be a nice idea if we all got together an' had a sort of…party for the two of us," Gene snorted. "I couldn't change their mind. Sorry, _cher_. You know how paratroopers can be."

Sam laughed, nodding her head as her eyes roved over all the men she'd invited for hers and Gene's wedding; she was happy to have them all here. She felt bad that Gene had been the one to have to deal with them in such a confined space for the past few days, but that was the price he paid for being the 'man' and thus the more 'responsible' of the two of them.

"I do," Sam agreed, shrugging lightly. She raised her brow at the men who had indeed taken over the bar, and one disgruntled bartender who was watching them all very closely; if they broke anything, she was absolutely making _them_ pay for it.

A gentle tap on her elbow made Sam turn and look up, and she was delighted to see Dick winters standing just beside her, a glass of root beer in his hands. "Not drinking tonight, captain?" she asked curiously, indicating his choice of beverage.

"No, Sam, not tonight. Not really… _ever_ , actually. And I told you, I'm not your commanding officer anymore. It's just 'Dick' now." He smiled kindly and tipped his drink to her. "Congratulations; tomorrow is the big day. Are you excited?"

She felt Gene watching her from his place at her other side, and she shot him a smile that she hoped would put any fears or misgivings he had about her commitment to rest. "Nervous and excited, absolutely. But a good nervous. I can't wait, to be honest. I never…thought I'd have a day like this. I've never exactly been the 'marrying type,' after all. I was sure I would always be a bridesmaid and never a bride."

"No way would Gene let _that_ happen," Nixon quipped, and Sam wondered how many beers he'd had already; Dick was probably making sure he didn't overindulge. "We'd figured you two were gonna tie the knot ever since Belgium."

"What?" Gene asked, clearly surprised. "Why would you think that?"

"Contrary to what people believe about officers," Buck called from over the heads of some of the men. "We aren't blind _or_ stupid! We could see it a mile away!"

Sam dropped her face into her hand to hide her blush, and Gene coughed to cover up his. "Well," he grumbled. "I never knew we were that obvious. I thought we was very discreet. Guess I was wrong."

Nixon took a swig of his beer. "Well, yeah. Plus, I had some money riding on you two getting married, so there's that."

Sam openly gaped at Nixon, and then reached out and punched him in the arm; Spina winced sympathetically. "Ow! Sam! I am an _officer_! You can't hit me!"

"You're not an officer anymore and I can _too_ , you idiot! Were you _all_ betting on us?!"

The men nervously avoided the former two medics' stern gazes, but Ralph had a lot less sense, and slung his arms over their shoulders, weaseling between them again. "Hey, look at it this way; none of us bet on you two _not_ getting together, so really, we were all rootin' for ya."

"Yeah," Luz agreed, holding up his glass. "And you won me fifty bucks, so thanks for that!"

"Luz, oh my God!" Webster snorted, elbowing him in the stomach. "You idiot."

Sam sighed, shoulders slumping. "Jesus Christ, you guys. You're all horrible and I hate you."

"We love you too, princess!"

"I hate _you_ most of all, Luz!"

8888

Gene woke up the next morning and immediately had a panic attack.

He was getting married today.

He was getting.

 _Married_.

 _Today_!

He lay in his bed, the one he would soon share with Sam, and clutched at his chest as he tried to even out his breathing. The loud 'bang!' of the door being kicked open nearly sent him into another fit and he yelled loudly as he tumbled out of the bed, medic instincts kicking in as he leapt to his feet. They were tangled in the blanket, however, and he immediately landed flat on his face, hands thrown out just in time to break his fall.

Loud, raucous laughter from the doorway forced him to jerk his head up, and he glared furiously at Spina, Babe, Luz, Toye and Bill as they all tried to maintain their grip on the door and stand up at the same time.

"Oh-Oh my God!" Ralph wheezed. "Oh my God that was-that was the _best_ thing I've ever _seen_!"

Babe wiped a tear from his eye and Gene silently vowed to get his revenge when the red-head got married; he was going to put fucking spiders in his bed or something. "Gene, what the fuck? All we did was come in to wake you up!"

"I _am_ awake, Heffron," Gene growled, pushing himself to his feet. "Thank you for that. Ugh." He ran a hand over his face as the men barged into his room; most of them had already left for the day, packing up to get rooms in the hotel in town. Those bums; they _could_ afford more than one night, but they'd rather mooch off of his hospitality instead.

Babe shrugged, and grabbed Gene's shoulder as Ralph dug into the closet for his dress greens; they were carefully preserved in a jacket cover, and he laid them on the bed, unzipping it and pulling out the uniform. "Here ya go, buddy. Hurry up and get dressed already. We gotta get goin' to the church."

Gene nodded, shrugging out of his shirt as the sound of footsteps near the door made the others pause and turn. His father had arrived, and was standing in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Gene inclined his head slightly as he struggled into his pants and began buckling his belt. " _Pére_?" he asked curiously, noting the strange look on his father's face.

"Son, I gotta say," Ed began. "I sho am proud of ya. Ya done good with yer life, real good. The whole damn family is proud. An' we sho can't wait to welcome yo' new girl into the family today! You two gon' be happy together!" Gene tried really hard to pretend those words didn't affect him as strongly as they did, but he had to reach up to swipe at his eyes. He heard his father sniff, before the man was striding forward and enveloping him in a hug. "You is gon' live away from yo' family, but we gon' visit all the time, yeah. You always gon' be that lil' boy who caught his first fish with me out on the bayou and cried 'cuz it was lookin' at him funny."

"Thank you, _pére_ ," Gene sniffed, wrapping his arms around his father. Ed stepped back, and the two men nodded at one another. The others in the room were strangely silent, and when Gene looked at them, he saw them wiping discreetly at their eyes. Sighing, he shook his head as he finished getting ready, his father helping to adjust his hat on his head. He stepped back and held his arms out to his sides.

"How do I look?"

"One more thing," Ralph said, and pulled a white strip of cloth from his pocket. He grabbed Gene's arm and lifted it, slipping the white cloth up until it settled in a familiar place on his upper arm. "You're a damn medic, Gene. You gotta represent."

Gene pressed his fingers hesitantly against the arm band he hadn't worn since he'd come back home to Louisiana; a world of memories, nightmares, and dreams were wrapped into that simple little piece of cloth with the bright red cross emblazoned on it. He raised an eyebrow at Spina. "Thanks, Ralph."

"Jesus, I think we broke him," Babe muttered, poking Gene in the shoulder. "That's the first time he ever willingly called you by your first name. Today is truly a day of blessings and miracles!"

Moment now utterly and thoroughly trashed, Gene gave Babe a hearty push, shooing the men from his room and following. "All right, all right. Let's get goin'. Can't leave my bride to be waitin' at the altar."

"Right," Ralph agreed. "And Gene, I just want you to know. About Sam…I'm glad she's happy. _You_ make her happy."

"Is this where ya tell me that if I hurt her, you'll kill me?"

"No," Ralph replied, shrugging as they all stepped outside. "If you hurt Sam, she'll probably kill you herself. Or at the very least, will remove your appendix without anesthesia."

"Duly noted. Thank you for the moral support, Spina."

"Anytime, doc. Anytime."

8888

Sam let out a long, slow breath as she looked at herself in the mirror for the last time.

The white dress and the lace that ran along her arms was foreign and stifling, but she felt oddly beautiful, even as she pulled her veil over her face.

She was squirreled away in one of the back rooms of the Baton Rouge church, an old southern style chapel that had enough quaint charm to make it appealing for the ceremony. Her mother, Gene's mother, Winnie, Lizzie, and Don were in the room with her (Don had only been allowed in after she'd finished getting ready). Just outside, she could hear the buzz of quiet chatter filling the church.

"Everyone's here," Don informed the waiting women, and Sam turned around to fix him with a wide eyed stare that made him flinch. He'd never seen her look so terrified. Stepping forward and around Martha and Maud's fussing, Don gently reached for her hand, noting that it was trembling violently. When he looked into her eyes, they were unfocused, darting back and forth as though they were seeing something that wasn't there. "Sam?"

She blinked hard and seemed to suddenly focus on his face. "Don?"

"Sam, are you okay?"

Slowly, she nodded, her skin pale and the shaking in her fingers lessening. "I'm…okay, yeah," she admitted softly as Martha and Maud stepped back, exchanging concerned looks with one another. Lizzie and Winnie had slipped out as soon as Don had slipped in, and they were already preparing to walk down the aisle.

"Sweetheart?" Martha murmured, placing her hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I'm fine, ma. You and _mére_ go and join everyone outside. I'll be out in a sec." When her mother hesitated, Sam smiled to show she was okay, and shooed her on her way. Once the two women had left, Sam immediately grabbed Don's hand in a death grip, her eyes wide. "Sorry…I-I'm not sure...I just…I didn't sleep well last night and…I'm okay. I'm _okay_. I'm getting married, so I'm…okay."

"You _are_ , Sam. Breathe a little; it's all right," Don agreed, gently rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs. "Are you scared?"

"I…I don't know. I don't think so? I just…"

"Sam, you've done things that are harder than this. You've run through machine gun fire, you've put people back together, you've survived some of the coldest bullshit in a foxhole anyone has probably _ever_ had to deal with. This is going to be a walk in the park. And at the end of the aisle, Eugene is gonna be waiting for you. Nothing else matters. I know what is going on in your head, what you're seeing; I _do,_ because I see it too. But let it go, Sam. _Breathe_. You are going to walk out there, and you are going to marry the man you love more than anything else in this world. Out of all the shit you've done in the past four years, don't you think _that's_ something worth doing?"

Sam took a long, shuddering breath, and squeezed his hands. "Yeah," she warbled, eyes feeling a little mistier than before. The nightmares that fluttered behind her eyelids disappeared, and her gaze was bright and focused. "Damn it, Don. You're gonna make me cry."

"Don't you dare. If you cry, then _I'll_ cry, and I have an image to uphold."

"Done deal."

Sam wrapped her hand around Don's offered arm, and through the doors, they could hear the music start to play. He handed her the bouquet of hydrangeas that were artfully arranged in a ribbon, and nodded. "That's our cue," Don mumbled, before he paused. "Oh! One more thing." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little white strip of cloth, and Sam's eyes widened as he handed it to her, taking her bouquet gently from her fingers. "You should wear that."

"What is…?" Sam asked quietly, unfolding the familiar cloth to see the brilliant red cross staring back at her from her hands. "Don?"

"Go on, Sam. Put it on."

Smiling faintly, Sam lifted her arm and slid the band up until it rested in the same place on the left that it had since she'd joined Easy Company. "Okay…" she murmured. "I'm ready now. Let's go."

8888

The church was filled with the men from Easy company, Gene's family, Sam's mom (and a couple of very distant cousins she hadn't spoken to since she was ten and who her mother insisted on inviting) and Lew and Sidney, who stood just as the front in their dress uniforms, twin smiles on their faces. Sam took a deep breath as they started walking, the aisle covered in petals from the flowers that had been thrown by Winnie and Lizzie.

At the end of the aisle stood Eugene, and Sam sucked in a sharp breath, hearing Don chuckle quietly next to her as he led her. Eugene looked as handsome as he always had to her in his dress greens, and the moment they locked eyes, his smile stretched wide enough to rival her own. The long walk down the aisle didn't seem quite so long then, and before she knew it, Sam was in front of him, and Don carefully handed her over to Gene with a heavy look full of meaning before taking his place at the end of the men standing behind Gene.

Babe, Ralph, and Don were all wearing their own dress uniforms, looking quite proud to be standing up at the front. Ed rounded out Eugene's side, looking smart in a crisp tuxedo. On her side, Sam had Lizzie, Winnie and both Martha and Maud, who had insisted on being bridesmaids to try to even out the little party. Their presence made standing in front of everyone a little more bearable to the more reserved bride and groom, who hadn't always been fond of being the center of attention.

Gene took Sam's hands in his own, gently pulling her up to stand in front of him. His eyes darted meaningfully down at the band on her arm as the preacher began to speak. Neither one listened too hard to the words; they only had one job here, after all. Only one thing to say and do.

"Don gave it to me," Sam whispered, leaning in close so Gene could hear her.

"And Spina gave me mine. We sho' is a pair, ain't we?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, her smile wide. "We sho' nuff is, Gene."

8888

The reception was held at the same bar and restaurant that they'd had their 'surprise party' at, only this time, it was actually closed to outsiders, rather than just being taken over by a bunch of rowdy former soldiers.

Sam and Gene didn't stick around for very long, and only an hour in, Spina and Babe helped them make an escape out the back, and the two decided, despite Sam's dress and Gene's uniform, to walk back home to their house. It wasn't too far, and they wanted to enjoy a little time together.

So, hand in hand, they strolled down the roads, earning whistles and claps and congratulations from the people they passed on the street until they finally made it outside town and to the little dirt road that led to their house.

"It's been a long day," Sam muttered, leaning against Gene's shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her. "But a good day. The best day. _Ever_." She lifted her head to face him, and he kissed her gently, earning a light chuckle from his new wife.

Wife.

Husband.

It seemed like a long time coming for the both of them, and neither had imagined they'd end up here. As their house came into view and they stepped up onto the porch, Gene swooped down and lifted Sam into his arms. She squeaked, throwing her hands around his neck and laughed as he tried to pry the door open with his foot.

"A lil' help?" he asked and Sam obligingly reached out to open the door for him, ignoring his sour look when she giggled at his predicament.

When they passed through the threshold, Sam immediately thumped his shoulder. "Wait! Wait! I have something for you! Put me down! Let me go get it."

Confused, Gene did as he was asked, watching as she lifted her skirt and rushed into the kitchen. He heard some rustling before she returned, eagerly grabbing his hands and dragging him to their room. He noted that she was holding a nicely wrapped box with a big red bow, and wondered what the heck she could have gotten him. Was this a thing people did when they got married? He hadn't gotten her anything.

Inwardly panicking and worrying he'd missed some sort of wedding tradition, Gene let himself be pulled down onto the bed, bouncing slightly when Sam quickly pounced on the mattress next to him. She pushed the box into his hands, motioning for him to open it. "Go on!"

Gene carefully unwrapped the box, lifting the lid off of it and staring at what lay inside. "What…is this?" he asked, carefully picking up a little toy firetruck and holding it aloft. "Sam?"

Sam was smiling shyly, leaning on his shoulder with both her hands as he held it up to inspect. "It's a firetruck, of course."

"Yeah, I know. But…why?"

Sam leaned her head against his, reaching out to turn it over in his hands. She spun the wheels, lifted the little moveable ladder, and then returned it to the box, setting it aside on the floor and resuming her place against his shoulder. "You remember when we first met?"

"I do vaguely recall being punched in the face a few times."

"I mean, _besides_ that. You remember what started that whole fight?"

Gene had to think for a second. "I remember that I…" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I accused you of stealin' my fav'rite fire truck toy, didn't I?"

"You sure did."

When Gene turned his head, an apology on the tip of his tongue, he was met with Sam's contrite look, her eyes down and fingers plucking at the edge of the pocket on his dress uniform.

"Wait…" he drawled, suddenly more and more amused at the reason for her gift. "Are you tellin' me…?"

"Yeah, Gene. I really _did_ take it from you. It was just so neat and shiny and new and I…I'd never seen a toy like it. But when you started hollering about it being stolen, I panicked and…"

"And…?"

"And I threw it in the pond by the schoolhouse."

Gene burst into laughter, clutching his stomach and falling back on the bed. Sam scowled, leaning over him with one arm on either side of his head. She reached up and swiped his hat, tossing it over to the floor before her veil followed. "It's not that God damn funny, Gene," she grouched, fingers carefully prying at the belt around his uniform and slipping it off. Gene was still having a hard time controlling his laughter, even as Sam began slipping each button on his jacket out of each hole.

"I can' believe you _actually_ stole it!" he cackled. "All that time…I always felt bad for gettin' in that fight with ya. And now yer tellin' me that I was actually _justified_ in thinkin' you stole from me?"

He reached up, grabbing her around the waist and rolling so she was pinned beneath him, the buttons on his jacket halfway undone. Sam laughed, fingers still working on finishing her task. "I don't know about _justified_ , but yeah, you actually _did_ catch your culprit, Gene."

"I did," he agreed, leaning down to capture her lips with his own. "And I ain't _never_ , ever lettin' her go."


End file.
